Fallout
by Mag68
Summary: I have taken the last few episodes of season 4 and the first few of season 5 and mixed them up, added a few things in, and taken a few things out. The same things happen, but how do they deal with them if we shift the focus a bit?
1. Prologue: The Sound of Silence

**A/N: Okay, I'm running late, but I have a note! It's an author's note, and not a doctor's note, but there you go. This is the prologue to the auction story purchased by IkilledKenny after she sold a kidney or something to buy me. The story won't make the deadline in its entirety, but I at least wanted to get a start on it. My sincere thanks to IkilledKenny, and to everyone who participated in the auction. **

**This story will be a bit AU. At least, as AU as I ever get. I have taken the events of the last few episodes of season 4 and the first few of season 5 and changed things up a bit. I added a little here and took some away there. Let's see where we end up, shall we?**

**Prologue: The Sound of Silence**

You know how in the movies there's always that moment of silence just before the bomb goes off when everything is silent and everyone moves in slow motion? The moment just hangs there, pulsing like the beat of your heart, daring you to exhale, waiting for you to let your guard down so that you can be blown to bits. You know its coming. You know that everything is about to change. The only question is; will you survive the fallout?

****

The silence roared in his ears.

Then it was drowned out by the pounding of his heart.

From somewhere in the deep recesses of his brain, the order came down to inhale. So, he did, pulling precious oxygen into his lungs as instinct kicked in.

And then the concussion vibrated through his body and rocked him back on his heels.

His knees were about to give out. _Move,_ he ordered himself sternly.

It wouldn't take much, really. It was just a tiny step from there to here. From the sink to the table. From Nicole to Lorelai. Such a tiny step, a baby step. But it felt like a giant leap.

At last, Luke sank down into a chair, still staring straight ahead, the 'whoa' he had uttered still echoing off of the walls of his empty apartment. He forced himself to flex his fingers and drop the towel caught in their death grip onto the tabletop. The skin stretched taut across his knuckles, protesting each movement, begging for a tiny squirt of hand lotion that would never come. There was none to be had. All that was available to his dry, cracking skin was the harsh pumice-laced rasp of the bar of Lava soap resting on the lip of the sink, a stark reminder of a week spent trying to erase the dark, inky stain of failure.

He rubbed his palm over the tender flesh, trying to soothe it without benefit of aloe and lanolin, as his eyes fell to the ancient boom box. The moron on the tape still droned on and on about being open to love, communicating needs, and asking for the love that you deserve. Unable to work up the energy to press the 'stop' button, Luke simply dropped his hands to his lap and let his gaze follow them. The permanent ink was mostly gone, but remnants remained deeply embedded into the whorls of his thumb. He could make out the faint shadow of regret as he stared at his thumb. The heavy gloom of disappointment seeped into his pores, tainting his blood with a heavy dose of guilt, and infecting him with almost crippling remorse.

_At least you got married. It makes me sad sometimes. Does it make you sad? I see Dr. Phil books in our future. Do you think I can do this?_ Lorelai's questions swirled in his head, floating aimlessly, drifting like burning debris caught on the breeze. He feared the moment they touched down, knowing how quickly those thoughts, if they settled, could ignite everything he had stored safely deep down inside of him.

_Can I do this?_ he asked himself. _Do I even want to? _Luke reached out and punched the button to stop the tape. He shook his head as he stared at the cover of his _You Deserve Love_ workbook as if he had never seen it before. _Do I? Do I deserve love? Didn't Nicole? I couldn't give her that. What if I don't have anything to give? _

"Lorelai," he spoke her name slowly, as if testing it out for the first time; letting the consonants roll off his tongue, tasting every vowel, savoring each melodic syllable.

He'd wanted her before. It seemed so long ago. A lifetime ago. A marriage ago. Only a year ago. Had it really been just a little over a year since he had finally let go of that last shred of hope? Okay, maybe not the last shred. He'd hung onto that, but he did let the rest of it go. He purposefully, resolutely turned his attentions from the woman he could never have to the one that he could. A sharp pain knifed into his gut as he purposefully and resolutely turned away from the cover of that stupid workbook. _I did what I had to do. I couldn't just sit around waiting for her. I moved on, I lived my life_, he told himself. It hadn't been as hard as he thought it would be. _After all, you can't miss what you never really had, right?_

Nicole was there. Nicole had wanted him. Why, he'd never really know, but she did. Truth be told, it felt good. Good to be wanted by an attractive, accomplished woman. Good to be able to make her laugh. Good to be the one she wanted to talk to at night. Good to hear his name whispered, breathless and needy, and know that, for once, he wasn't the one panting after what he couldn't have. He didn't have to, he had Nicole. For what that was worth.

Oh, he liked her well enough. Actually, he liked her a lot. But more than that, he liked that she liked him so much. And the funny thing was; he hardly ever asked himself why. He didn't care.

He never even bothered to try to figure out why an intelligent, educated, witty and worldly woman like Nicole would want a small town diner owner with nothing more than a high school diploma moldering in a box and nothing less than an full on addiction to flannel. Luke didn't sell himself short. He knew that he was a smart guy. He was well read, and kept up with current events. He cared about things; the environment, homelessness, plummeting literacy rates and baby seals getting clubbed over the head. Vain or not, Luke also knew that he was reasonably good looking. He may not be as young as he once was, but he took good care of his body and he knew that his natural aversion to shaving had an odd tendency to work to his advantage where women were concerned. And, there may have been a few women in his past that may have mentioned that he a certain kind of charm. Luke saw no reason not to use that if it suited his purposes. He could talk to people if he wanted to. He dealt with all kinds of people from all walks of life in his day to day business. And, contrary to popularly held beliefs, Luke Danes knew many, many polysyllabic words. He just didn't see the point in using more when one syllable would do. _See? I could have used 'suffice' there, but 'do' would do, _he thought with a smirk.

No, he just never bothered to wonder which words Nicole Leahy would use if asked what she saw in him. She saw something, and that was fine with him. Knowing would have given him some obligation to live up to those words, so he didn't ask. It just made it easier to want to be with her. It made it easier to pretend that it was more than it was. It made it easier to stay married rather than go through the hassle of a divorce.

But in a way, Nicole's adamant insistence in making their relationship work was exactly what made it harder to stay married to her. He'd liked dating her. He'd liked sleeping with her. He'd liked having someone check in with him. He didn't even mind checking in with her. He liked that he could make plans or say things like, 'Nicole and I saw that play last month,' or 'I took Nicole to that new restaurant in Woodbury'. Seems like a pretty stupid reason to stay married to someone. It seems more than a little odd when, for all intents and purposes, they had already gone through the hassle of getting a divorce. All he had to do was sign the papers in front of a notary and send them off to be filed. But, being with Nicole had proved to be better then being without Nicole, and she seemed to want to make it work, so he figured, why not, right?

_Why. 'Why' was the correct question to have asked. I should have asked myself why,_ he chastised himself. _I should have asked her, 'Why me?' I should have questioned the sanity of dating a woman that you were already legally married to, but no desire to be legally married to. I should have questioned the validity of that marriage in the first place, when I must have been clearly out of my mind at the time, _he thought with a derisive snort. _Why did I say 'I do'? Why did she? She wanted out as much as I did. Why did she come back? Why did I agree? And, why did I beat up that guy's car when I so clearly just don't really give a damn?_ Luke asked himself as he slumped in the chair. But he had never asked those questions. Maybe because he didn't want to know the answers, or maybe because he just didn't care.

_Why do you care?_

_Because I don't want you to move._

_Why? Why don't you want me to move?_

_I could ask Lorelai,_ he thought sadly. _I had no trouble asking her why._ Luke reached out and ran his hand over the cover of the workbook that came with the tapes. _I asked her why she cared, and she gave me an answer. I asked her why she didn't want me to move, and her silence spoke volumes._ _And that was why I hadn't signed those papers. Why should I? Why would I willingly choose to be alone again? Why would I want to subject myself to spending night after night in an empty bed in an empty apartment?_

Luke sighed and hung his head, ashamed that he had chosen to waste months of his life pretending to be something he was not, all to avoid being left alone with his own thoughts. He subjected Nicole to months of confusion and misunderstanding; clearly unwilling to commit himself to their relationship, but stubbornly refusing to let her go. And now, he was right back where he started, alone in his apartment, staring at his thumb.

But, something was different now. _Lorelai._ It _could_ happen. They were older and wiser, or so he told himself. It was nicer than admitting that maybe it could happen because they had both failed again, and things were starting to look a little more desperate. He was free. She was free. And, if he was reading her right, and he had years of experience under his belt when it came to reading Lorelai Gilmore, she didn't seem particularly upset about the guy. _The cats, yes, but not the guy, _he thought, chuckling to himself.

Now all he had to do is figure out if he had the balls to do something about it. Now, all he had to do was figure out if he really wanted to. He looked down at the book for which he had willingly shelled out a hundred bucks. American, not Canadian. _Don't you want the possibility of more? Come on Luke, it's time. Make a move, take a shot; entertain the possibility of a non-Unabomber existence. What do you say?_ A lifetime ago, she had prodded him about his single bed in his teeny tiny apartment. A failed marriage later, he looked across the room and saw that very same bed mocking him, passing judgment on him.

"I say that I'm not sure that I deserve love, but I want it," he answered her quietly as he fanned the pages of his workbook with the pad of his thumb. _I want it. I want Lorelai,_ he thought as he closed his eyes and once again saw her beautiful face. _I want to love Lorelai. I want Lorelai to love me._

He flexed his fingers again and then reached for the pad and pen he had used to scrawl his to-do list of preparations for Liz and T.J.'s wedding. At the bottom of the list he wrote in neat block letters, 'buy lotion', and then flipped to the next page. He pressed the button to rewind the cassette and then pressed play, hunching over the pad of paper as he set to work on repairing his damaged psyche and broke out the jackhammer in hopes of repaving his road.

Whatever the hell that meant…

****

Lorelai blinked at the shadows that danced on her ceiling wishing that she could place the blame for one more sleepless night on the sounds generated by a restless college student clattering around in the kitchen, but she knew that wasn't the problem. She tried to tell herself that it was just stress. The test run for the inn was just around the corner, Rory was in some weird, post-finals sleeping pattern, Cletus kept wowing them his Houdini imitation, Jackson was spending nights in his zucchini patch, and something happened last Saturday night. _Bingo! We have a winner, folks._ _Last Saturday night._ Last Saturday night, she danced with Luke. It shouldn't feel like a big deal, right? It was just a dance, after all. But, something happened as they circled that dance floor. _Something good. I think,_ she told herself as she tugged the covers up once more, only to push them down a moment later. The problem was that she just couldn't put her finger on what it was.

Lorelai conveniently skipped right over the fact that she blushed in his arms when she felt his eyes focused solely on her, dark blue and intense. She glossed right over the memory of the warmth of his hand on her back. She completely ignored the super-instant-recall powers she had suddenly acquired for the express purpose of knowing exactly how her body felt when pressed against his. No, she didn't think about how broad and solid his chest was beneath the dark suit she had chosen for him long ago. She didn't dwell on how safe she felt in his strong arms. She didn't spend hours pondering how that scruffy stubble would feel against her skin, or if his lips were really as soft as they looked.

Instead, she focused on the movie they were supposed to see Sunday. Would it be an action movie, or a drama? Would he force her to sit through the latest Sci-Fi adventure, or would he give in and let her sucker him into a chick flick? Would he shush her if she talked? How long would he lecture her if she ate popcorn, nachos and Red Vines, or should she drop the nachos from the line-up in hopes that the rant would end before the previews started? Would he eat popcorn? With butter or without? Would she get her own bag, or would they share the big tub? When she reached for some popcorn, would he reach at the same time? If their hands brushed, accidentally of course, in the quest for buttery, salty goodness would he pull away? Would she? Once the popcorn was consumed, would he go for a refill, or would he try to hold her hand? He held her hand last Saturday night, when they danced. It felt good. She had wanted him to hold her hand as they walked home. She had wanted…

Lorelai heard the clatter of a lid being dropped into the kitchen sink, and tossed back the covers as she heaved herself from the bed. She padded down the hall to the steps and walked down them, careful not to trip in her sleep deprived state.

When she shuffled into the kitchen, Rory looked up as she drained a steaming pot of macaroni noodles. "Oh, hi! Great! I'm still on my finals sleep schedule, and, man, am I wired. What time is it? Like, 3:00 in the morning? I cannot tell anymore," she babbled, completely wired up. "Want some mac and cheese? I love mac and cheese when I can't sleep." She checked the refrigerator and smiled excitedly. "Cool. Individual cheese slices." Rory began dropping slices of cheese into the pot of steaming noodles. "So, I've been making out my résumé so I can try to get a summer job, because there is no way that I am going to swipe cafeteria cards again next year." Her train of thought was derailed by the buzz of the dryer. "My whites are done," she said as she hustled to grab her next load. Lorelai slipped into a chair and pressed her forehead to the cool tabletop. "Do you know that the best time to do your laundry at Yale is in the middle of the night? You have your pick of washers, the place has just been swept, and the trash is completely empty," she said enthusiastically as she swapped out her laundry. "So, what do you think? The Stars Hollow Gazette needs a facts checker, but Rob's Tire is offering way more money," she rambled as Lorelai stood up and walked over to the door. "I know that now is the time to suffer for my art, but I was so broke…" she trailed off as Lorelai locked the door and pulled it firmly closed between them.

Lorelai took a deep breath and said in a rush, "I think I'm dating Luke." She nodded once and then turned away from the door calling, "Great to have you home, hon," as she shuffled toward the steps.

"I slept with Dean," Rory called back from the other side of the locked door.

Lorelai froze in her tracks. There was a dull, muffled hum in her ears as the silence enshrouded her brain in a cushiony soft cloud of disbelief. She turned her head slowly and then waited for the rest of her body to catch up. Each step she took matched the cadence of her beating heart. Cautiously, she reached for the door as it were wired to blow. She turned the lock, the mechanism rattled like the click of a detonator in the silent room. When neither attempted to open the unlocked door, Lorelai closed her eyes to shield them from the glare of the blast she knew was about to come.

"You what?"

Rory placed the palm of her hand to the smooth wooden door and softly repeated, "I slept with Dean."

Lorelai closed her gaping mouth and swallowed hard as the realization that this was not just a bizarre dream sank in. "When?" she managed to squeak.

"Last Saturday night."

Last Saturday night. The words floated innocently through the door and then exploded into fragments, tearing Lorelai into tiny pieces like a thousand shards of shrapnel. _Last Saturday night. Was it while Luke and I were dancing? Were you sleeping with a married man while I coaxed Luke into sharing a second turkey leg with me? Did you give your virginity to another woman's husband while I was hanging out with my good friend Luke? You remember Luke, the one whose wife cheated on him with the sock man._ Instead, she said simply, "Oh, Rory."

"I'm sorry I didn't talk to you about it first. I - I know I promised I would, but I swear, I didn't know it was going to happen," Rory said in a rush. "I mean, I got stuck at this bar, and I didn't have a ride home, and I didn't have cab fare, and the ATM was in a really dicey area according to the waitress. I didn't know who to call, so I called Dean, and he came to get me and gave me a ride back to school."

Lorelai turned the knob and jerked the door open. "You didn't have cab fare, so you paid him back by…"

"No! It wasn't like that! We got back to Yale, and Jess was there, and he was saying all of these things, crazy things," Rory cried in frustration.

"Jess? Jess was there?"

"He just showed up, completely out of the blue! He was there waiting for me when Dean walked me to my door, and said he needed to talk to me. I thanked Dean for the ride home, and then, the next thing I know, Jess is asking me to quit school and run away with him. He was going on and on about how we were meant to be together, that I was all packed, that it was what I wanted, but it wasn't what I wanted. Not like that," Rory said plaintively.

Lorelai reached out and took Rory's hand, gently pulling her back into the kitchen. She led her to the table and urged her into the chair that she had just vacated. She pulled out another chair and sank down into it, running her hands through her lack-of-sleep tousled curls. "Okay, you're gonna need to go slower for me, kid. I'm having a hard time keeping up." She drew in a deep breath and then said, "You got stranded, called Dean to pick you up, but when you got home Jess was waiting for you. Have I got that straight?" When Rory nodded, Lorelai licked her lips and said, "And Jess wanted you to run away with him, but you didn't want to."

"Right. I mean, I wanted to, but I didn't want to," Rory told her.

Lorelai blinked rapidly as she held up one hand. "Wait. You didn't want to, uh, with Dean?"

"Not Dean, Jess," Rory said impatiently.

"You said you slept with Dean," Lorelai retorted.

"I did, but it was after Jess left."

"Oh my God," Lorelai muttered as she dropped her forehead into her hands.

"I just, I was so upset, and Dean, he stayed until he was sure that Jess was gone, just to be sure that I was okay," Rory explained. "And I, we, we didn't mean for it to happen, it just happened. And he, he was so nice to me, Mom. I know it's awful for you to find out like this, and I really wanted to tell you, really I did but everything's okay. I'm okay, and we were, you know, safe. So, all those Trojan Man jokes all these years really apparently stuck," she tried to joke. When she saw that Lorelai wasn't laughing she bit her lip and then said, "And I'm lucky, too, because Dean. He's… well, aren't you glad that it happened with someone who's good and really loves me?"

"He's married," Lorelai said, completely flummoxed by the justifications she heard flowing from her daughter's lips.

"I know," Rory whispered as she stared down at the table.

"He's married to someone else, not you," Lorelai said nonsensically.

"I know it not me! You don't have to keep saying it!" Rory snapped as she jumped up from her seat.

"Rory, I said it once," Lorelai said sadly.

"It feels like you're rubbing it in!"

"I'm not! I just want to be sure that you understand what you've done. This was your first time. This was not how your first time was supposed to be. I never, ever thought that your first time would be with a married guy."

"He's not a married guy, he's Dean! My Dean!" Rory blurted.

"Oh, Rory," Lorelai whispered. "He's not your Dean. He's Lindsay's Dean. You picked someone else. He married someone else. You picked the other guy who showed up at your door tonight, and he married Lindsay, not you," she pointed out bluntly.

Rory's eyes widened and then filled with tears as she stared back at her mother. "I know," she whispered brokenly.

"Oh, kid," Lorelai said as she pulled Rory into her arms. Her heart broke as a sob ripped through her baby's body. "Shh, it's okay. You'll be okay. Everybody makes mistakes," she comforted.

Rory took a deep, shuddering breath and whispered, "I don't know why I did it. I was confused. So confused."

"We'll figure it out." Lorelai's heart clenched as she kissed Rory's silky hair and then smoothed it as she had when she was just a toddler.

"Did you say you were dating Luke?" Rory asked, her voice muffled in her mother's neck.

"Shh," she whispered again, and wondered idly if a spritz of Bactine, a Band Aid and a kiss could possibly fix this.

****

Emily Gilmore sat in the lobby of the Grafton Hotel waiting for her husband of nearly forty years to pick her up for a weekend of emotional blackmail at Lorelai's new inn. She glanced over at the lobby bar, wishing that she could have just one nice, stiff drink to get her through what was bound to be an interminable weekend, but a lady never sits at a bar, much less by herself. That, and heaven forbid, someone she knows should walk through the door and find her tossing back her first martini at four fifteen in the afternoon. _Oh, a martini would be so lovely,_ she thought, looking at the bar longingly.

With a sigh, Emily glanced down at her watch impatiently, and then returned to her intense scrutiny of the hotel lobby's opulent, if not a tad garish, décor. For over two weeks she has called this hotel home, only dashing back to the house to collect more belongings when she was sure that Richard would not be home. She had spent the previous afternoon staring into her large walk-in closet in the bedroom they had shared for thirty nine years, trying to decide what she should pack for what was sure to be a weekend of torment at her daughter's hands. Of course, she had packed for Richard too. She tried to tell herself that it was a matter of self-preservation. God only knows what the man would have chosen to wear if left to his own devices. She also knew that it was a lie. Richard had been dressing himself without her input for the past two weeks, but old habits die hard.

She had rifled through his dresser drawers, keeping an eagle eye out for any evidence of past indiscretions, and feeling a petty sense of triumph as she left each and every one in complete disarray. _Not that Richard would notice._ No, the only one who would pay any heed to the reckless ransacking would be the maid, Elsa. _Was it still Elsa? No, Kiki,_ she recalled with a nod. "Shriva!" she murmured aloud, and then caught herself. She spared the occupants of the lobby a nervous glance to see if anyone had overheard the crazy lady on the settee talking to herself; but all she saw was the bell captain approaching.

"Mrs. Gilmore?" he inquired politely.

"Yes?"

"Mr. Gilmore has arrived and your luggage is in the trunk," he reported with a nod.

"Thank you," Emily said stiffly as she rose from the sofa and settled her purse strap on her shoulder. With her head held high, she followed the liveried bellman through the front door and stood back silently fuming as he opened the passenger door to Richard's Jaguar for her. She settled in the seat and turned to confront her husband as the door closed securely behind her.

Richard held up one hand to stop her, his head cocked toward the center console where his cell phone rested. "Wednesday should be fine, Floyd. If you'll have your girl set up the tee time, I'll handle the lunch reservations."

"Excellent!" Floyd boomed through the speaker. "I'll see to it today. This should prove to be a very advantageous deal, Richard. I have every faith in you. Give my love to Emily."

"I will," Richard responded before disconnecting the call. "Floyd sends his love," he said as he put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb without so much as a glance in her direction.

"Well, it's nice that someone does," Emily answered tartly. "And I find it so touching that Floyd Stiles has every faith in your abilities, Richard. He must be much relieved to have been born again."

"Don't start," Richard said in a warning tone.

"A man of such faith, well, he certainly is a man to be trusted and admired. I'm so happy that you two were able to kiss and make up," she said in a saccharine sweet tone.

"I did what I had to do," Richard said through clenched teeth.

"So I hear," she said as she pursed her lips and turned to watch the scenery fly past her window.

"And your fears have proven false. The rapprochement with Floyd has not had a negative impact on our relationship with Lorelai, nor with Rory," he said in a smug, self-satisfied tone.

"No thanks to you," Emily said under her breath.

Richard heaved a long-suffering sigh and then pressed the button to increase the volume on the car stereo. Emily turned to gape at him, stunned by his easy dismissal as a symphony of stringed instruments built to a stirring crescendo.

The music fell on deaf ears as she stared straight ahead, watching the road stretch endlessly in front of her. Her heart hammered in her chest, dwarfing the thundering timpani that pulsed through premium stereo speakers. Her face felt flushed and then she felt the blood drain from it entirely as she struggled to draw a shallow breath. For one frantic moment, she wondered if he'd even notice if she expired at that very moment. _Of course he would,_ she admonished herself, _you're sitting in his precious Jaguar. He'd have to move the body eventually. Where would his lunch dates sit?_

****

The letter had taken her hours to compose. She worked harder on that letter than she had on most of her term papers. Of course, it was nowhere as easy to write as her term papers had been. She had avoided him all week, trying to sort out her thoughts and feelings about what had happened, and trying to be mature and responsible about what they had done. But she wanted him to know that she didn't regret it. Well, she regretted parts of it, but she didn't regret him. She knew that she would see him that day, and she wasn't wrong. What she was wrong about was his reaction to seeing her. He avoided eye contact. He went out of his way to keep from coming within ten yards of her. When she waved, he looked away as if he hadn't seen her, when she knew damn well he did. And that's when Rory Gilmore got angry.

She saw him walk through the back door holding one of the highly anticipated guest room doors and cornered him in the hall. "Hi," she said breathlessly.

Dean set the heavy door down and drew in a deep breath. "Hey. I, uh, I have to get this upstairs."

"Can't we talk?"

"What about?"

"What about?" she asked, her voice rising in disbelief.

"I don't mean what about," he said quickly. Dean lowered his voice and said, "I know what about, but I thought that the fact that you've been avoiding me kind of made the whole talking thing a little difficult to do. I left you three messages. You didn't answer any of them."

"I didn't know what to say, Dean. I didn't plan for that to happen, but I did ask you to come, remember? It's all my fault," she said plaintively.

Dean shook his head as he stared down into her bright blue eyes. "It's not your fault. I was there too. Right?" he asked, leaning in a little closer to her.

"Right," she answered, her brow puckering into a frown even as she leaned closer to him.

"It was both of us," he said in a low, raspy voice.

"Dean!" Tom barked from the entryway. Rory and Dean jumped apart, and her cheeks flamed as she heard Tom ask, "How we doing with those doors?"

"We're doing fine, Tom," Dean reassured his boss as he picked up the door again.

"Dean," Rory hissed as she pulled a folded envelope from the back pocket of her jeans. He turned to look at her over his shoulder, and she reached out, tucking it securely into his back pocket. "It may have been both of us, but one of us needs to do this," she said with a small, sad smile as she turned and fled.

****

"Rory! Oh, my God. You're missing everything," Lorelai called as she burst through the front door. She jogged up the stairs shouting, "Grab those CDs and head back to the inn before you miss the cross-dressing midgets. That's where the night is headed. Oh! Things are happening.. big things, wow things. I have so much to tell you." She carefully picked her way back down the steps in her high heels holding a box of Band-Aids aloft. "Let me just open with this little tidbit… Kirk running naked through the square. Of course, with all my careful planning and preparation, I forgot to bring Band-Aids and a camera. I have got to learn that, always, without fail, Kirk equals camera," she reminded herself. She looked up as a flash of pink caught her eye and saw Rory standing alone in the kitchen facing her. "Hey, what's going on?" she asked with a puzzled frown.

Rory nervously tucked her hair behind her ear and said, "Dean came over to borrow something," as Dean made his appearance, rumpled and disheveled from Rory's bedroom.

"Yeah," he said gruffly and then cleared his throat. "Thanks," he said as he turned to Rory.

"You're welcome."

"So, um, I should go. Um...bye, Lorelai," he called as he made a hasty exit via the kitchen door.

"Bye, Dean," Rory called, attempting a carefree tone and falling far short of the mark. As the door closed behind him, Rory turned back to her mother and said, "So, I'm almost done getting the CDs together. I picked a wide selection so we'd have choices, and then I picked a bunch that probably only you will like, but it's good to have options," she rambled nervously as Lorelai crept forward and peered into Rory's bedroom.

"So, what did he borrow?" she asked softly, stunned that her bright, brilliant daughter could make the same bad decision twice.

"Mom, it's not what it looks like," Rory began.

"It looks like you slept with him again. It looks like he's still married."

"You don't understand the situation."

"Is he still married?" Lorelai asked.

"Yes, but…"

"Then I understand the situation," Lorelai interrupted, hoping to cut off Rory's attempt at justification.

"It's not working out between them. They're not happy."

Lorelai closed her eyes, wising with all her heart that she wasn't really hearing what she was hearing, "Oh, Rory."

"He tried the best he could, but it didn't work. It's over."

Lorelai sighed. "He told you that?"

"Yes."

"He told you he's leaving her? He told you he's moving out, they're getting divorced, he's got a lawyer, they've divided up the monster-truck season tickets?"

"We didn't get around to discussing everything."

"You didn't get around to discussing everything?" Lorelai cried, incredulous.

"It was a crazy night."

"You, of all people! The girl who thinks everything through, the list maker; you didn't bother to discuss those things before jumping into bed with a married guy?"

"He's not a married guy. He's Dean! My Dean!"

"Didn't we just have this discussion the other night? He's not your Dean, Rory! He's Lindsay's Dean. You're the other woman!"

"I told you, it's over."

"It's not over until he's out of the house with the ring off."

"He took the ring off!"

"Oh, my God, I don't believe this!"

"He's in love with me, not Lindsay."

"Does Lindsay know that?"

"She's not good for him, okay? She lets him quit school and work himself to death and…"

Lorelai shook her head adamantly as she said, "No, Rory, uh-uh, you can't be one of those girls who blames the wife for forcing the husband to cheat."

"He wasn't cheating."

"He was cheating, Rory. He was cheating, and you were cheating with him. There's no other way to spin that, kid."

"I'm not spinning it, and I'm not a kid. I'm nineteen!"

"I didn't raise you to be like this. I didn't raise you to be the kind of girl who sleeps with someone else's husband."

"You slept with dad when he was with Sherry," Rory said spitefully.

"He wasn't married to Sherry," Lorelai argued.

"He was engaged, and she was pregnant."

"So, this is all my fault? I set one crappy example for you, and you have no choice but to follow in my footsteps?" Lorelai argued. When Rory turned and walked away, she followed in hot pursuit. "Rory, what are you going to do now? Huh? Is there a plan?"

"I don't want to talk about it anymore."

"I just want what's best for you, that's all," Lorelai tried to explain.

"I don't want to talk about it!" Rory shouted.

"I just don't want you to get hurt, Rory. What if he doesn't leave her? Now you're all emotionally involved."

"You're just mad because I didn't come running to you to discuss whether or not I was ready for this step. I decided it on my own," Rory said angrily.

"Well, obviously, you weren't ready for this step. The very fact that you chose another girl's guy to sleep with, not once, but twice, proves that!"

Rory stormed out of the house, but by the time she reached the front lawn, she didn't know where she should go or what she should do. She pulled her cell phone from her pocket and quickly dialed Dean's number as the hot, fat tears fell from her eyes, splashing onto her hand as she covered her mouth. She held the phone to her ear just in time to hear Dean's wife answer his phone, and knew that once again, she had made a terrible mistake. She disconnected the call as she sank to her knees, hugging her stomach as she doubled over with the pain of her own stupidity.

Lorelai walked slowly down the porch steps and cautiously approached her daughter. She bet over and placed a gentle hand on Rory's shoulder and said, "Hey, let's just talk."

Rory shook her head and then violently shook Lorelai's hand from her shoulder. "No," she said stubbornly as she stood up and then ran back into the house, slamming the front door behind her.

****

"I'm going to Europe with Grandma," Rory said flatly.

"Rory, you can't go to Europe now," Lorelai protested.

"You're the one who thought I should go, remember? You and Henry James are right, I can't stay here. Not now."

"Sweets, I know it's hard, but it'll blow over."

"Everyone knows, Mom. Lindsay and her mother have made sure that everyone knows," Rory said angrily. "I can't stay here."

"You have to stay here! Yes, you made a mistake, but you have to face…"

"Three mistakes," Rory interjected.

"Three?" Lorelai asked.

"Yes, three," Rory said grimly. "I can't stay here. Say goodbye to Daisy Miller, she's being shipped off to Europe."

"I am not shipping you off! I'm the one who is trying to make you deal with what has happened!"

"We're leaving tonight," she said as she went to her room to pack.

"Rory, please talk to me," Lorelai called as she followed her, only to have the bedroom door closed in her face. And then the lock clicked into place. She stared at it in shock, and that's when the fury took over. "That's right, you're nineteen now. You're all grown up, and you can handle your own affairs. Sorry. That's a bad choice of words. You can handle your own life events," she yelled through the door.

"That's right, I can," Rory yelled. "You know what? This trip is perfect. It gives me to opportunity to finally get away from you!"

"I'm sorry, weren't you supposed to go through this phase like five years ago? 'Cause, I mean, seriously, at this point, storming into your room and blasting your goth rock - it's just gonna confuse your roommates," Lorelai called snidely.

"The limo will pick me up. You should get back to the inn," Rory said, and then turned her music up.

"Don't tell me what to do!" Lorelai yelled like a frustrated nineteen year old. "I'm the parent, you're the kid!"

The volume was lowered and the lock turned. Rory opened the door a crack and stared at her mother defiantly. "I'm not a kid anymore. I suggest that you try to live your own life and stop trying to live mine for me," she said in a cold, controlled tone. And then, she closed the door and turned the lock once more.

****

There's a little beauty in every explosion. The flames can be breathtaking, licking at the ebony of the night sky as they reach for the heavens, consuming everything they touch. They burn down to smoldering red-gold coals that glow for days and sometimes weeks afterward, just waiting for the opportunity to flare into blazing glory again. And yet, even in some of the most horrific holocausts there are always amazing stories of survival. Those brave souls that somehow manage to battle their way through the flames that pucker their delicate skin. Those hearty fools who somehow manage to crawl through thick, choking smoke; only to cough up sweet, pure oxygen the moment they drink it in.

But, you can get through it. Sometimes, you are lucky enough to find your way to safety. Perhaps, with the helping hand of someone who loves you, who values you, who wants you; no matter what you've been through. If you can do that, well then, you can make it through anything. Once you reach that spot, that oasis of safety and comfort far, far from the suffocating heat, the pummeling shockwaves, and the cloying odor that embeds itself in your hair, your skin and your nostrils; you can finally relax and breathe deep once more. Breathe it in, taste the honey laden air on your tongue, swallow it deep into you lungs; filling yourself with the sound of silence. And peace.

If you're lucky…

_tbc_


	2. Flying Debris

**A/N: Settle in, it's a long one. Did I mention that I have disposed of ridiculous plot contrivances geared toward keeping our couple apart? Luke is not going to Maine, Liz and T.J. and whole and healthy. If you haven't noticed, this story has a tad more angst than most of my others. Hang in there, things will get better, I promise. **

**Flying Debris **

Lorelai sat immobile on the couch long after limousine pulled away. Confusion and anger roiled inside of her, battling for the upper hand. Confusion seemed to be winning at the moment. For the first time since she was a teenager, she had absolutely no idea how to be what she needed to be to her daughter. Anger was making a good showing, though, because she couldn't but think that no matter what happened between them, Rory owed her a little more than the heaping helping of attitude she was suddenly dumping on her. But, as much as she hated this sudden rebellious streak her daughter had discovered, the mom in her simply couldn't stop herself from trying to make amends before Rory left for Europe.

"_Are you sure you don't want me to come to the airport with you?" she had asked._

"_I'm sure," Rory answered brusquely as she shoved a book and a mini book light into the carry-on bag on the coffee table. She shoulders slumped slightly as the words hung heavy in the air between them. "I mean, you can't go past security, anyway," she said in a slightly more apologetic tone._

"_But I could ride along. Give the driver someone to talk to on the way back," she offered with a shrug._

_Rory looked up and said, "I'm pretty sure he won't want to come back to Stars Hollow just to drop you off."_

_Lorelai nodded, acknowledging her point. They both froze for a moment as they heard the sound of tires crunching on the gravel drive. Floundering for something to say, anything, Lorelai stared at Rory's luggage. "Oh! Money! Do you have money?" she asked as she snatched her purse from the coffee table and rummaged for her wallet._

"_I have money," Rory said as she opened the front door. "Hi," she said to the uniformed driver on the other side of the threshold. "Hi Grandma, I'm ready," she told Emily as her grandmother stepped inside._

"_Wonderful. We'll have to get going, we don't want to miss our flight," she said with a tad too much enthusiasm. _

"_I just have these," Rory said as she reached for her suitcase._

_Emily shook her head and said, "Rory, a lady never carries her own luggage." She supervised as the driver collected Rory's bags, and then called, "Goodbye, Lorelai," with a breezy wave as she turned to leave._

_Lorelai stood up, her wallet clutched in her hand as she opened it. "Wait! Do you have trashy-magazine money?" she asked Rory._

_"Those magazines make Grandma crazy," Rory said as she glanced longingly at the open door._

_Lorelai plucked a bill from her wallet and shoved it into Rory's hand. "Yeah, well, here's twenty bucks. It's a long flight."_

_"Rory! Hurry, please!" Emily called from the porch._

_"Coming, Grandma," Rory answered. She turned back to Lorelai and said simply, "I have to go."_

_"Yeah, you do," Lorelai said with a sad smile. "Okay, so, um... have fun, and uh, if you need to talk about anything, just please call me, okay?"_

_Rory's jaw tightened and she looked back at the doorway. "Okay," she said quietly, and then fled pulling the door closed behind the sound of the latch catching reverberating through the empty house._

_Lorelai squeezed her eyes shut tightly as she dropped back down onto the couch, her fingers squeezing the supple leather of her wallet. She took three deep breaths as she heard the car door slam, and forced herself to stay rooted to the spot as, once again, gravel crunched beneath rubber._

It could have been hours, it could have been minutes. She sat staring at the blank television screen rewinding and replaying the events of the past week over and over in her mind, trying to pinpoint where she had gone wrong, looking for the key to make it all right. Logically, she knew that she had tried to do what was right. Although she heartily disapproved of Rory's actions, she had tried to be supportive, tried to listen, tried to be a friend, and then when that all failed, tried to be a mother.

_And failed spectacularly_, she thought sadly.

There had been many times over the course of the last nineteen years that Lorelai felt like she was in over her head, but somehow, she always managed to find her way. No matter how dire the situation looked, she could always find a way to make it work for her and for Rory. But not this time. This time, Rory didn't want to hear her. Or, if she heard her, she didn't want to listen. And this time, Lorelai couldn't fix it for both of them.

Things had changed, and she hadn't even noticed. Lorelai hadn't had to play the mom card with Rory very often over the years. As a matter of fact, she tried to avoid it simply out of fear of turning into her own mother. But she had it, it was always here, tucked safely in her back pocket. But now, she realized that her mom card was completely useless. She didn't control anything in her daughter's life anymore, not the Pop Tarts, not the remote control, not the purse strings. She lacked leverage. Rory had options. And without even realizing it, Lorelai had her mom card swiped from her before she even had a chance to use it for anything really important. _I want it back,_ she thought, the corners of her mouth drawing down into a trembling frown.

Tears burned behind her eyes, and she blinked rapidly, trying to beat them back. The telephone rang, and she jumped, her head swiveling to stare at it as if she hadn't known it was there. She rose slowly, still clutching her wallet as the answering machine clicked on. Her fingers pressed into the soft leather as she listened to her outgoing message, hoping it was Rory on the other end, praying that there could be some resolution to this mess they had gotten themselves into before they were separated by an ocean rather than just a door.

"Hey, it's me. Luke," the disembodied voice rumbled from the tiny speaker, and Lorelai jumped again, her heart hammering as if jolted by a defibrillator. She stepped closer to the machine, cocking her head as she curled the hand holding her wallet to her chest.

Luke cleared his throat softly. "I know we didn't settle on anything definite earlier, but I was wondering, uh, we talked about seeing a movie tonight," he rambled. "I'm not sure if you still want to, uh, see a movie, but if you do…"

Lorelai smiled her cheeks warming as she heard the nervousness in his deep voice. She reached for the phone just as he said, "Well, if you do, you can, um, call me."

Lorelai pressed the 'on' button with her thumb and held the phone to her ear. "A movie?" she asked, slightly breathless for no reason at all.

"Oh, hey, I didn't know if you were there," he said gruffly.

"I'm here," she said as she uncurled her arm and placed her wallet gently on the desk.

"Hi."

"Hi," she answered, fully aware of the silly smile that curved her lips, but powerless to stop it.

"So, um, you up for a movie?" he asked.

"I'm always up for a movie."

Luke chuckled and said, "Okay, well, good."

"Good," she agreed.

"So, you wanna pick something out and I'll come to pick you up in about an hour?"

"An hour sounds good," Lorelai said as she scanned the empty house.

"Good."

"Any preference?" she asked before he could hang up.

"Nothing where the guys wear knickers," he said quickly.

"Too bad, I was hoping we could find a screening of _The Legend of Bagger Vance_," she teased. "You could work up to a good golf course rant."

"Seen it, and I'm pretty sure they wore knickers in that one."

"I'll find something manly," she promised.

"I'll see you in an hour," Luke said, his voice warm with a smile.

"An hour," Lorelai confirmed before hanging up.

She walked into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, twisting the cap off as she let the door swing shut and then leaned back against it. She lifted the bottle, taking a deep drink as her eyes drifted toward Rory's bedroom. The morass of confusion and anger that had ebbed in the pit of her stomach sprung to life again, threatening to bubble up as she forced the water down to quench it.

As Lorelai lowered the bottle as she pushed away from the fridge with her shoulders. _I can't do anything about the confusion, but I am totally entitled to the anger,_ she told herself as she squared her shoulders resolutely. As she started for the stairs, she reached into Rory's room, grasped the doorknob, and quickly pulled the door shut with a satisfying bang.

****

_How am I going to do this?_ Rory wondered as she sat in the first class passenger lounge, waiting to board their flight. Beside her, Emily rhapsodized about the sights they would see, the hotels where they would stay, the restaurants that they simply had to visit, and the joys of being able to travel as she saw fit. Rory barely heard a word.

Instead, her mind drifted back to a crowded waiting area at JFK. They had happily checked their monstrous backpacks, their trashy magazines were safely stuffed into Rory's messenger bag, and their bottles of water stashed in Lorelai's cavernous shoulder bag. They sat, knees bouncing and hands fidgeting in nervous anticipation, waiting for a boarding call that couldn't come soon enough. She had been forced to snatch the travel sized Evian spray that Lorelai kept squirting in her face from her mother's hand. Lorelai protested vehemently, slumping back in her seat and blaming her one and only offspring for every wrinkle that would dare to pop up on her face for the next decade. All in all, it was a good start to a great adventure.

Rory's lips curved slightly as she recalled the whispered backstories they had created for a number of their fellow passengers. She remembered how she had felt both embarrassed and proud, as she stood in that narrow aisle watching Lorelai con the man with the window seat to switch with them so that Rory could have it. They had sat with their heads close together, pouring over yet another travel guide, planning their attack on the continent. The smile twisted on her lips as she ducked her head. _Europe probably still hasn't recovered_, she thought wryly.

"Rory? Did you hear me?" Emily asked in an irritated tone.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Grandma," Rory apologized quickly. "I'm just, it's been a long day," she said with a small shrug.

Emily eyed her granddaughter shrewdly as she nodded. "Yes, it has," she said slowly.

Rory forced a bright smile and said, "Hopefully we'll be able to sleep on the plane, that way we can hit the ground ready to go."

"Yes, well, I never sleep well on planes," Emily said with a sigh.

"I don't either. I'm usually too excited to sleep," Rory confessed.

Emily's answering smile was warm. "We're going to have a wonderful trip. You've done Europe the Bohemian way, and now you will experience Europe the Gilmore way. Only the best of everything," she said with a defiant toss of her carefully coiffed hair.

Rory nodded as she bit back the urge to point out that her mother was also a Gilmore. She wanted tell Emily that they had a wonderful time; that the summer she spent schlepping those enormous backpacks from country to country, trying to make the most of their Eurrail Pass, had been the best summer of her life so far. Instead she said simply, "I hope that the pillows don't smell like feet."

"Feet?" Emily asked, aghast. "I should hope not! Why on earth would pillows smell like feet?"

Rory reached over and patted her grandmother's arm. "I was just teasing, Grandma," she assured her as she sat back in her seat and stared at the clock, wishing that they could just go ahead and board already.

"Well, when we get there the first thing that we should do is buy oodles of postcards to send to our friends. And your mother," Emily said, resuming her overly-chipper tone. "There's nothing more fun than sharing every little juicy detail of your trip with your friends stuck at home and making them positively green with envy. I'm sure that your little friend, Lynn, will enjoy them."

"Lane," Rory corrected automatically.

"Yes, Lane. We'll have to be sure that you send her letter after letter so that she can experience everything delicious little thing that you're experiencing as we go," Emily said with a nod. "Oh, and when we get to Rome, I want you to be particularly aware of your surroundings. European men are not as reserved with their attentions as American men are…"

_Letters._ Rory closed her eyes, tuning out her grandmother's voice once more as she saw Dean staring down at her in the shadowy dance studio that morning. _Was it just that morning? Had he read my letter? Did he even have a chance to before Lindsay found it?_ she wondered. _He hadn't said anything about it. Of course, we didn't end up talking very much, even though we met to talk. I just wanted to talk. How had that happened?_

"They're very free with their hands, and for some reason they like to pinch women's bottoms. Why, I'll never know," Emily said with a sniff

"I don't know," Rory murmured, answering herself and her grandmother.

"Well, now you know to be on your guard," Emily said as they announced the boarding for their flight. She stood up and clutched her small carry-on bag with both hands. "Shall we?" she asked brightly as she waited for Rory to gather her belongings.

"I'm ready," Rory said as she stood up and shouldered her bag.

"Here we go!" Emily said excitedly as she threaded her arm through Rory's and led her toward the gate. Rory allowed herself to be pulled along, smiling tiredly as Emily asked for the fifteenth time, "Do you have your boarding pass?"

"Its right here," Rory said as she held the slip out to the gate agent.

"This is going to be so wonderful," Emily trilled as they started down the jetway.

Rory turned back to look at the abandoned waiting area once more, wishing she could undo what she had done, take back what she had said, and give back that Evian spray. She put one foot in front of the other, smiling as the flight attendant greeted them and her grandmother launched into a list of demands. She smiled automatically as their fellow first-class passengers settled around them and then placed her hand gently on Emily's arm.

"Grandma, we'll be fine," Rory said as she urged her grandmother to take her seat.

"Rory, you are not a very experienced traveler," Emily said, pursing her lips as she slipped into their row and sat down in the window seat. "It's best that people know your expectations right away, that way, they will work to avoid disappointing you," she said as she searched for the buckle on her seatbelt.

Rory nodded and lifted the travel case from Emily's lap, carefully placing it under the seat at her grandmother's feet. She stowed her own bag, and fastened her seatbelt before pressing her head into the headrest. She turned to look across the aisle and was met with the obsidian gaze of a Pomeranian wearing a Gucci vest and poking its head out of a Prada carry-all. She glanced at the dog's owner and thought, _Spoiled trophy wife of a big-time movie producer. She wanted to be a star, but that overbite didn't come across as fetchingly on camera, so now she's the new Pia Zadora…_ She closed her eyes and once again asked herself, _How am I going to do this?_

****

Pressing a hand towel to his face, Luke opened the medicine cabinet above his bathroom sink and scanned its contents. He reached for a bottle of aftershave, but hesitated when he realized that it was the one Nicole had given to him, and that he never really liked it. He grasped the cap and pulled it from the shelf, intending to toss it into the trash can near his feet, but then he realized that he didn't have anything else. He frowned as he lowered the towel from his face, inspecting the shelves in hopes of finding his old bottle of Aramis, but coming up empty. He glared at the bottle of Armani as if it had single-handedly staged the coup. For the life of him, he couldn't remember throwing the old cologne away. Then, he realized that Nicole had probably taken it upon herself to clean him out as homage to the gods of organization.

Turning his attention back the shelves, he noted that the ancient bottle of Old Spice that had last been used by his father was no longer at the back of the bottom row. His heart stopped for a moment, and then he opened his hand, letting the nearly full bottle of expensive cologne drop into the plastic trash can. He pawed through the cabinet, panic clawing at his throat as it looked more and more like one more piece was slipping away from him. He dumped the cabinet's contents into the damp sink and searched desperately for what he knew he wouldn't find.

"God dammit!" he shouted as he swung his arm wildly, knocking the cabinet door closed. "God damn it, Nicole," he muttered under his breath as he stalked out of the room, yanking the towel from his hips and tossing it onto the end of his new bed. He jerked open his top dresser drawer and pulled out a pair of boxer briefs. "There's a wet towel on the bed, Nicole" he tattled on himself. "A wet towel on the bed, I didn't wipe down the shower walls and I'm not wearing that fruity fucking perfume you bought me," he said, his voice rising as he pulled the briefs on.

Adjusting the fabric at his crotch, Luke walked over to the closet and jerked the door open angrily. "I will not let you ruin this for me," he growled at his invisible ex-wife as he inspected his wardrobe.

He jerked a navy blue shirt from its hanger and let it dangle from his fingers as he surveyed his jeans, looking for the newest pair. He tossed the shirt in the direction of bed, not noticing as it landed on top of the wet towel he had rebelliously left there moments before. Pawing through the hangers, Luke tried to find a pair of jeans that weren't nearly faded to white, spattered with grease, or otherwise food stained. Finally, he settled on what looked like the best of the lot, and made a mental note to pick up a couple of new pairs to be used strictly in a non-diner capacity.

Luke pulled the jeans on, and then snagged a snowy white undershirt from his still open drawer. Stretching the soft cotton with his hands he slid the snug shirt over his head and tucked it tightly into his jeans before fastening them. He quickly donned his socks and shoes and then grabbed the shirt from the bed. He held it in his hand for a moment as he stared down at the wet towel on the bed. He dropped the shirt once more and snatched up the towel, striding purposefully into the bathroom to hang it over the rod.

As he left the room, he glanced down into the trash can and hesitated for a second, debating whether to use it or not. After all, he had nothing else, it seemed. Pressing his lips together in a resolute line, he switched off the light and hustled back into the bedroom to finish dressing. Luke slipped his arms into the shirt and quickly began buttoning it. He made it to the third button before he felt the cold, damp fabric clinging to his forearm. He scowled as he looked down at the sleeve and saw a large wet mark where the shirt had absorbed from his pointless act of rebellion.

"Shit, shit, shit," he muttered under his breath as he yanked the shirt up over his head and tossed it to the floor. He walked back over to the closet and yanked a dark green henley from a hanger. Without giving it another thought, he pulled it down over his head, grabbed his keys and wallet from the top of his dresser and shoved them into their respective pockets. He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly.

"Too old for this first date crap," he murmured as he smoothed his hands over the shirt and patted his pockets, trying to determine if he had everything that he needed. "Not even a first date, but she didn't know that was a date, it wasn't official," he grumbled as he ran his hands through his slightly damp hair, smoothing it back into place, fixing the results of his many wardrobe malfunctions. Luke closed his eyes for a moment, trying to gather his wits about him before he went to pick up Lorelai.

****

Lorelai unwound the hank of hair from the large barreled curling iron and then ran her fingers gingerly through the curl to separate it. She pulled the plug from the socket and left the iron in the vanity to cool as she re-inspected her make up. With a satisfactory nod, she stepped out of the bathroom and padded into the bedroom wearing only a pair of snug jeans and a teal blue bra. She glanced down at her chest and then began to rifle through her closet, looking for the perfect sweater. With a small grunt of triumph, she pulled a dark blue short sleeved sweater with a square neckline from the jumble of clothing.

Lorelai quickly slipped into the sweater and fluffed her hair, making a mental note to have some of its length cut off for the coming summer months. She moved to her dresser and selected a perfume in a bottle that would have matched her bra perfectly and nodded her approval as she walked into the cloud of scent, letting it fall over her lightly. Earrings, necklace, and bracelet in place, she peeked at the clock and was shocked to find she was ready five minutes early.

Lorelai reared back in shock, and then looked down at her bare feet. She sighed and whispered, "Whew, thought I was slipping," as she meandered to her closet to begin the arduous task of selecting just the right shoe.

She bypassed the high heeled pumps and sling-backs, but noted with a smile that she could actually wear high heels with Luke if she wanted to. She considered the selection of boots, but determined that she had stretched that season long enough. Finally, she chose a pair of slides with a wedge heel that was high, but not too high for a casual night at the movies. Wriggling her toes into the shoes, she scuffed her way back to the bathroom.

One last swipe of gloss, and she was good to go. She clutched the tube in her fist as she met her own gaze in the mirror. As if trying it on for size, she flashed a bright smile, critically inspecting it to see if it would pass muster. Deciding that it was good enough, she switched off the light, scooped a bright red patent leather purse from the bed and headed for the steps.

Lorelai was just dropping her lip gloss and keys into the purse when Luke knocked on the door. Snagging the strap with one finger, she hurried to answer the door. "Hi, almost ready," she said, wearing the same cheerful smile she had selected earlier as she wandered back into the house, leaving Luke to follow behind.

Luke stepped into the foyer and stood with his hands on his hips. "I tried to be late," he called out.

"You failed," she answered as she looked around for her wallet. A frown creased her brow as she rooted through her other bag again and then began lifting couch cushions.

"What are you looking for?" he asked.

"My wallet," she mumbled as she straightened up and looked around again.

"You don't need it," Luke said with a shrug.

Lorelai turned to him in surprise and asked, "What if the movie I picked is rated 'R' and I need my ID to get in?"

"Oh, well, yeah, you might need it," he conceded with a smirk.

"There!" she cried as she hurried to the desk and grabbed the wallet she had left near the phone. She dropped it into her purse and pulled out her keys. "Okay, now I'm ready," she said as she came to a halt directly in front of him, turning her smile up to full wattage.

Luke swayed slightly on the balls of his feet, but caught himself just in time. He smiled as he stepped back and gestured to the door. "The bookstore is showing that Barbara Streisand movie you like," he told her as he pulled the door closed behind them.

"Yentl?" Lorelai asked as she slipped her key into the lock.

"The 'When We Were' one," Luke said as he gestured with his hand, searching for the right title.

Lorelai turned to him, this time her smile lit her eyes as she shook her head. "_The Way We Were_," she corrected. "I think you do that on purpose," she added suspiciously narrowing her eyes at him.

Luke smiled as he placed his hand gently at the small of her back to propel her toward the steps and chuckled, "Maybe."

Lorelai laughed softly as he led her around the truck to the passenger door. "Oh, you don't have to, with the," she babbled as he reached for the door handle.

"I've got it," he said as he pulled it open for her.

"Thank you," she said as she climbed into the cab with a nervous giggle.

Luke nodded and closed the door firmly before walking around the hood of the truck, pulling his keys from his pocket. After heaving himself into the driver's seat, he turned to her and asked, "So, do you want to see that?"

Lorelai frowned as she chewed her bottom lip and tried to think of a good excuse to avoid the BWR that particular night. "Um, it's kind of sad," she said, wrinkling her nose.

Luke nodded slowly and then asked, "Okay, well, you're the movie girl. Where to?"

"Um, Woodbridge," Lorelai said with a decisive nod.

"Okay," Luke said as he started the truck and shifted into reverse. He hooked his arm over the back of the seat and pretended not to notice when Lorelai shied away a little. Once on the street he shifted into first, and Lorelai settled back in her seat, edging a little closer to him. Chalking it up to nerves, Luke accelerated and headed for the highway.

Lorelai pressed her lips together as they cruised steadily out of town. "Mrs. Schultz has new awnings," she observed.

"Yeah, her old ones tore up when those storms came through a couple of weeks ago," Luke said with a nod.

"Ah."

The tires hummed against asphalt as the silence stretched between them. Luke cleared his throat softly and said, "So, the inn was a big hit."

At the same time, Lorelai asked, "Busy day today?"

"Yeah," they answered in unison, and then laughed together.

"I'm a little nervous," Luke confessed in a low deep voice.

"Me too," Lorelai said with a relieved smile. "Weird, huh? Me and you being nervous around each other."

"Yeah, it is weird."

"I mean, we shouldn't be. It's not like we don't really know each other," Lorelai said offhandedly.

"Maybe that's why we are," Luke suggested.

"Ah, we know too much," Lorelai said, her eyes widening as she nodded sagely. "How very perceptive of you, Mister Danes."

"I catch more than you think I do," Luke said with a smirk.

"You do, huh?"

"You tend to be the one who doesn't catch on," he said as he shot her a warm glance.

Lorelai looked down at her hands as she smiled her concession to his statement, her cheeks warming with color. "You're right."

Luke reached over and lifted her hand from her lap, closing his warm fingers around hers as he looked over at her to gauge her reaction. "Get it now?" he asked gruffly as he turned back to the road.

"Got it," she answered as she looked from their clasped hands up to his profile.

"Good," he said as he gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

Lorelai slowly turned to look at the scenery flashing past her window, a small smile curving her lips as she felt a blanket of calm smother the butterflies in her stomach and damper the swirling morass of emotion that had plagued her all day. Mile markers zipped past unnoticed as she closed her eyes for a moment, wallowing in the comfortable silence that cushioned the cab of the truck from the world outside. She squeezed his hand in return, and then wiggled her fingers into a more comfortable position as she pressed her palm tightly to his. She turned her head against the ancient headrest and opened her eyes to look at him.

Sensing her stare, Luke glanced over and smiled quickly before returning his attention to the road. Lorelai's brow puckered as he turned away. She stared at him intently as she tried to process what could feel so wrong about such a beautiful smile. And then it hit her. She had seen that very same smile just a short time before, reflected in her own mirror.

****

_Thank God for sleep masks_, Emily thought, stifling a sigh as she shifted in her seat, trying to find a comfortable position. The truth was; she was exhausted. First, there was the fiasco at the inn the night before, and then there was the total humiliation of being caught without her skirt by the security detail hired by their very own homeowner's association. And Richard. Richard, using his accusations of instability to deflect the glare of the spotlight shone on him by her accusations of infidelity. Richard, who was undoubtedly ruining her silk damask draperies with the odor of his disgusting cigars, at that very moment. _Well, now he's free to do whatever he likes. I'll have the damn things ripped down and replaced the minute I get back_, she decided.

Her eyelashes scraped against the black satin of her mask, and she forced her eyes closed again even though she knew that she wouldn't sleep a wink. She was too tired. Too tired to sleep, too tired to think, too tired to keep of the stream of mindless chatter she couldn't seem to stem when her eyes were open, and too tired to care if Rory thought she was really sleeping or not. It was all she could do to keep up the façade until after their complimentary champagne had been sipped. Her cheekbones ached, her throat felt as if it were lined with sandpaper, her head throbbed with each word she forced from her lips.

The moment their glasses were cleared, she pulled the mask from her carry-on as Rory opened a book. But now, cloaked behind smooth satin, she was left alone with her thoughts. Thoughts that hurt more than her throat, ached more than her cheekbones, and pulsed inside of her head unrelentingly. What would Richard do while she was gone? Maybe he'd spend his time having breakfast, lunch and dinner with his new friend Moby, she thought derisively. _Wait, no, he wouldn't have breakfast with Moby, he'd be having it with Pennilyn Lott. Had they been lovers all along? Had he been making a fool of her for thirty-nine years? Did he ever love her as much as he loved Pennilyn Lott? If he had, how could he keep seeing her?_

A sigh that she couldn't contain escaped her lips. Emily turned her head away from her granddaughter, hoping that Rory wouldn't notice, praying that the girl's inquisitive nature would force her to ask what the matter was. _There were simply some things that one did not discuss with one's child, or in this case, grandchild_, Emily reminded herself.

But, she was grateful that Rory had come along. She was appreciative of the company, thankful to have someone else to focus on, relieved that she would not be traveling alone. Emily Gilmore had never once traveled to a foreign country alone. As a matter of fact, she had hardly ever done anything alone. She had gone from her parents' house to the dormitories at Smith to Richard's house. She'd never done anything on her own. Unlike her younger sister, Hope, the great expatriate and free spirit of the family. At least, she was as free as anyone in her family ever was.

_Hope. Oh please, let Hope have received my messages. Please don't let her be off traipsing around Pago Pago or some other godforsaken place_, she prayed._ I need Hope. _

Emily felt the rush of tears burning in her throat and squeezed her eyes shut tightly. When it became evident that they were coming whether she liked it or not, she lifted the mask and peeked out from under it. She sat up and unbuckled her seatbelt, rousing Rory from her immersion in her book.

"I'll be right back," she said softly as she forced one more bone creaking smile and gestured to the aisle.

Rory moved her legs so that Emily could exit the row, and returned her attention to her book as her grandmother made her way to the forward lavatory.

Once inside the tiny compartment, she shot the bolt and leaned back against the sink, pinching the bridge of her nose mercilessly between her thumb and forefinger as she gulped in ragged breaths. She used that formidable will of iron to force her heart rate to slow and the knots in her stomach to uncoil. She turned and braced her hands on the edge of the sink as she stared into the wavy mirror bolted above it. Brown eyes stared back at her, dull and lifeless. Emily recoiled, pressing her fingertips to her cheeks as she blinked rapidly.

_No. I will not do this, I will not fall apart_, she told herself sternly_. I cannot fall apart now. Rory needs me. I promised her the trip of a lifetime, and I intend to deliver._ She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin, trying to ignite a little fire in her eyes and inject a little purpose into what she was afraid would be a completely purposeless life without Richard's needs to attend to morning noon and night. She pressed the button on the faucet and let the cool water trickle over the insides of her wrists for a moment. With a resolute nod, she plucked paper towels from the dispenser and dried her hands quickly.

She stepped out of the lavatory only to come face to face with the perky blonde attendant she has spoken to as they were boarding.

"Is everything all right, Mrs. Gilmore?" she inquired with an ingratiating smile.

Emily pursed her lips as she studied the young woman for a moment and said, "Those pillows are entirely inadequate. If I wanted to put my head against that disgusting headrest, I would have booked business class, or heaven forbid, coach," she said pointedly.

"I'll bring you two more pillows," the young woman answered promptly.

Emily nodded her satisfaction and said simply, "Thank you." She made her way back to their row only to find the Pomeranian across the aisle staring at her expectantly as his mistress slept slumped in her seat. Emily smiled sweetly and whispered, "One yip out of you and we'll let you go outside for a nice run."

"Grandma!" Rory gasped, and then stifled a giggle with her hand.

"I detest dogs," Emily grumbled as she slipped back into her seat. "The very least she could have done was teach the mutt that it's impolite to stare."

Rory giggled again and turned to look at her grandmother as she whispered, "Creepy, isn't it?"

Emily's cheekbones didn't hurt as she returned Rory's amused smile. "Yes. I believe it's really a Chihuahua with hair implants," she whispered conspiratorially.

Rory grinned and whispered, "I think they rub him with Rogaine."

"That's possible," Emily said with a soft chuckle.

Their eyes locked for a moment, and then Rory leaned in closer as she whispered, "The guy two rows up on the right? I think he's a mafia hit man."

"The blonde man in Ralph Lauren?" Emily asked with a puzzled frown.

Rory nodded soberly and whispered, "Clever disguise isn't it?"

Emily's eyes widened as her smile blossomed. "Yes, very clever. What about that man?" she asked as she nodded to a round, balding man seated behind the woman with the dog.

Rory shook her head and sighed heavily as she whispered, "That is a sad story…"

****

"I can't believe we paid money to see that," Luke grumbled as he pushed the theater door open and held it for her to exit.

"We didn't, you did," she crowed. Lorelai jabbed a finger into his chest as she passed.

"I can't believe I paid money to see that. You remember the story I told about the guy who played the drinking glasses? Well, that was better than this," he complained as they walked side by side toward the truck.

"At least you don't have to see this every night," Lorelai pointed out.

"Thank God."

"Admit it, you wanted the car. All guys wanted the car," she teased.

"Well, yeah the car," Luke said with a shrug.

"You can be Starksy, I'll be Hutch."

"Why do you get to be Hutch?" he asked.

"I am far more laid back than you are," she scoffed.

Luke snorted and said, "You'd like to think so," as he reached for the door handle.

Lorelai grinned as she climbed into the passenger seat. "I can't believe you agreed to it, even Rory said no," she admitted with a grin.

"Ah, I see, I get it now," Luke said as he nodded emphatically and slammed the door shut. He circled the car yanked open the driver's door. "I'm gonna have to have a talk with Rory when we get back," he said as he settled in the seat.

Lorelai opened her mouth and then closed it, clamping her jaw shut tightly. Luke turned to look at her, the sudden silence filling the space between them. "Or not," he said slowly. He cocked his head and asked, "You feeling okay? You look a little greenish."

"Wow, you sure know how to seduce a girl, don't ya?" Lorelai said with a short laugh.

"I saw what you ate in there," Luke said as he hooked a thumb at the theater. When she turned away, he reached over and touched the backs of his finger to her cheek. "Are you okay? Do you feel sick?" he asked, genuine concern coloring his tone.

Lorelai pressed her lips together in a tight line and juggled her knee a bit as she stared out the passenger window, willing herself not to lean into his hand. "Uh, you can't talk to Rory when we get back; she went to Europe with my mother this evening."

"Oh," Luke breathed as he slowly drew his hand away, watching as she wrapped her arms around her stomach protectively.

Lorelai turned to look at him challengingly as his silence spoke volumes. "What have you heard?" she demanded.

"Heard?" he tried to play dumb.

Lorelai huffed out a breath and said, "Nice try, this was bigger news than awnings."

Luke wrapped his fingers around the steering wheel and gripped it tightly, watching as the blood rushed from his knuckles. "I heard some stuff. Crap mostly," he amended quickly as he shot her a look.

"And if I told you that there was a possibility that what you heard was true?" she asked softly.

Luke flexed his jaw as he measured his words carefully. "Uh, I would say that maybe Europe was a good place for her to be right now."

Lorelai blinked in shock and then asked, "Are _you_ Henry James?"

"What?"

"The young lady acts up so the family sends her away until she can be reintroduced to polite society?" she asked snidely.

Luke reared back and asked, "What kind of crap is that?"

"Well, you think it's good that she's run off to Europe," Lorelai said defensively.

"I think it's good that she get away from here and think. Take a little time to get her head straight," Luke argued.

"Get her mind right," Lorelai said derisively.

"Hey, don't put this off on me, I only answered your questions, I didn't ship her off!" he snapped.

"This not how I raised her, Luke! I raised her to be _the_ woman, not _the other woman_," Lorelai shouted, her anger spilling out.

"I know that! But everyone makes mistakes, Lorelai," Luke argued. "Hell, I'm a prime example of that."

"I didn't teach her this, to just, just take what she wants no matter who it belongs to, to just do what she wants, no matter who it hurts," she cried, incredulous.

"No, you didn't." He shook his head as he turned to look her straight in the eye. "But Lorelai, you know what it's like to live out your private life in that sardine can of a town. You know how they are."

"She can't just do this, start all of this and then run away leaving everyone else to clean up her mess. I didn't teach her to run away, dammit!"

Luke opened his mouth to answer, and then clamped it shut.

"What?" Lorelai demanded.

"Nothing, forget it," he said quickly.

"No, what? What were you going to say?" she insisted.

"When you broke it off with Max, you ran away," he said quietly.

Lorelai gaped at him for a moment, and then turned to stare out of the windshield as she swallowed the lump that had risen in her throat. "This is possibly the worst first date I have ever been on," she muttered under her breath.

"I'm not criticizing you…" he began.

"Yes, you are. Take me home," she said stubbornly.

"No, Lorelai, really, I was just…"

"Take me home!" she shouted, her eyes blazing as she turned to glare at him.

"Fine," he huffed as he cranked the ignition and the truck roared to life.

He jammed the gearshift into reverse and wheeled out of the space. Lorelai fell back against the seat and his tires left tracks on the worn asphalt as he headed for the exit, the muscle in his jaw twitching as he clenched his teeth together. They sped through town heedless of traffic laws. By the time they reached the highway, Lorelai was boring holes through the passenger window with blue eyes as hard as diamonds.

Luke closed his eyes for a moment, and then blinked several times as he tried to figure out what had gone wrong. Well, other than sticking my big fat foot in my mouth, he reasoned as he propped his elbow on the door and rubbed his knuckle over his lips. He wet them with the tip of his tongue and then cleared his throat softly before taking a deep breath.

"I was only trying to say that when you're upset, it's only natural to want to hide for a little while, just until you can think again," he said quietly.

"Yeah," she answered softly.

The silence stretched like miles of unpaved road as the night slipped past their windows, drawing closer and closer to its inevitable conclusion.

"She's the sock man," Lorelai said sadly.

Luke's eyebrows shot up as he digested her words. "Not really the same thing," he answered at last.

"How can you say that?" Lorelai asked curiously as she turned to look at him.

He shrugged slightly and said, "I'm not a nineteen year old kid with some romantic illusion of what marriage is supposed to be. They think that you say, 'I do' and then they go off and live happily ever after, that it should all be easy from there," he said in a low deep voice. "I know better than that. I know that the real work doesn't start until after you say those words, and you have to really want to be in it to make it all work."

"So because they're young and naive, it's okay?"

Luke shook his head and said, "It's never okay, but they don't, they have no way of knowing what it's really like, or how hard it can be."

Lorelai smirked as she turned back to her window and said, "You make it sound so attractive."

Luke sighed and said, "Lorelai, I woulda stayed in it."

"What?"

"I would have stayed married to Nicole if she hadn't given me the out," he admitted.

"Why?"

"Why not?" he countered.

"Why not?" she laughed in disbelief.

"It wasn't horrible or anything," he said with a small shrug.

"You were miserable," Lorelai argued.

"No, I made Nicole miserable, and that made me miserable," he corrected. "But I made a commitment, and I would have stayed in it if that was what she wanted."

"But you never would have done this to her," Lorelai pointed out.

Luke chewed the inside of his cheek and then said, "I'd like to think I wouldn't."

"You wouldn't," she said with quiet conviction.

"I don't know," he murmured. "If we… If I thought that there might have been a chance to be happier, I might have, I don't know. Luckily it didn't come to that." He took a deep breath as he turned into town, taking the most direct route to her house. "I do know that Dean - Dean was still thinking about Rory, even when he was marrying Lindsay," he said as he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "He never stopped."

Lorelai closed her eyes and whispered, "Poor, stupid kids."

"Yeah."

The tires crunched on gravel as he turned into her driveway, the sound popping around them as he pulled to a stop behind her Jeep. Lorelai shuddered slightly as the noise ricochet through her, and then opened her eyes, staring at her license plate as if it held all of the answers.

Luke turned the truck off and sat flexing his fingers around the steering wheel as he felt his chance slipping away. "Lorelai?" he asked quietly.

"Hmm?" she answered as she turned to look at him.

Luke released the wheel, sliding his fingers over the smooth hard plastic as he lowered his hands to his lap. "You're right, this was the worst first date ever," he said in a rush. "I'm sorry, I really wasn't trying to hurt you, I just… I just really, really suck at this," he said with a short laugh.

Lorelai couldn't help it; the smile came free with the chuckle that she couldn't smother. "I haven't really been at my best either," she conceded.

He turned to look at her, waiting patiently until she met his gaze, and then smiled wanly. "If you think maybe you might want to give it another shot on another night, I just want you to know… This thing we're doing here, you, me, I'm in. I'm all in," he said gruffly. When her eyes widened, he asked, "Does that, uh, are you scared?"

Lorelai ducked her head as she toyed with her purse strap nervously. "Yes," she whispered.

Luke nodded slowly and then said, "Okay, well, that makes two of us," as he opened his door and bailed from the cab.

Lorelai took a deep shuddering breath, cling to his words, wrapping them up in her mind and holding on to them tight as he opened her door. He offered her his hand to help her down, and she took it, placing her fingertips in his palm, and exhaling as his fingers enveloped hers, holding them safe and sound. She made no move to free her hand from captivity as they walked to the porch, so Luke made no move to relinquish his tenuous hold on her. They climbed the steps side by side, Luke dreading what could be the end, Lorelai dreading the silence that lay beyond the locked door.

As they stood under the porch light, oblivious to the moths circling above their heads, Luke let go of her hand as he turned to look at her. "Sorry about the crappy date," he said with a wry smile. "You'll let me know? You know, if I have a shot at redeeming myself?"

"Here's your shot," she answered softly.

Luke didn't hesitate. Just as he had the night before, he pulled her to him and kissed her as if his life depended on it. Her lips were soft and yielding beneath his as he pulled away slightly, releasing the pressure and giving in to the pleasure of simply tasting her again.

Lorelai wound her arms around his neck as his kiss grew softer and sweeter, but at the same time deeper. She melted against him, letting the solid bulk of his body support her as she parted her lips, asking him to take what little apology she had to give.

Luke groaned as his tongue touched hers, sending a jolt through his body. His hand slid up her back, gathering her dark curls in his fingers as he cradled the back of her head. Her tongue met his dueling for control, seeking more, demanding everything he had to give; so he gave and gave until it hurt. His body screamed his desire for her, pressing into her soft curves, molding her to his hard frame.

Lorelai pulled away, her eyes as filled with wonder as they had been the night before. Her brow furrowed slightly as she looked into his eyes, unsure of what she expected to see, but stunned by the intensity she found there. And then he caressed her cheek; brushing his fingertips over her temple a soft as a butterfly's wing and then pressing his palm to her heated skin, as sure and steady as an oak. She closed her eyes and leaned into his palm, reveling in the tender strokes of his thumb across her cheek.

"Goodnight, Lorelai," he said in a deep throaty voice.

Her eyes flew open and she shook her head, reaching up to grasp his hand as he pulled it away. "Don't go," she whispered.

"What?"

Lorelai shook her head, and held tightly to his hand, keeping him there are she fumbled with her purse, desperately seeking her keys. "This is why I never lock the door," she muttered under her breath as she fished them from the depths. She held them up for him to see, and then tried to juggle her purse and the keys and his hand with little success.

Luke chuckled as he gently removed the keys from her fingers and held them up to the light. "This one?" he asked as he fanned the others away from the one that looked the most like a house key.

"Yeah."

Luke reached for the door and slid the key into the lock, turned it, and then opened the door, letting it swing wide open for her. Lorelai smiled shyly as she glanced up at him through her lashes, and then stepped through the door, still holding tightly to his hand. Luke nudged the door closed behind them and followed her into the hall. He glanced around, checking the empty house for any apparent breech in security. Satisfied, he raised her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it softly, his eyes locked on her face.

"Okay?" he asked as he tried to free his hand.

"No," Lorelai answered.

She reached up and wrapped her free hand around the nape of his neck, pulling his lips to hers once more. She kissed him heatedly, channeling her anger and frustration into passion as she pressed her body to his sinuously. Luke captured her soft moan with his mouth and then returned it with one of his own as she moved against him, setting his body aflame.

When she pulled away this time, Lorelai stared at him with the same intensity she had seen in him moments before. Before he could catch his breath, she stepped around him, pulling him behind her as she dropped her purse on the floor and started up the stairs. His mind raced as he allowed himself to be pulled along, caught in the undertow. Determinedly, he kept his mouth shut, unwilling to voice any of the thousands of questions bouncing around in his head.

She led him into her messy bedroom lit only by a bedside lamp. As she turned to face him, Lorelai lifted his hand to her cheek once more, closing her eyes as she held it there and slowly rubbed her skin against his callused hand. When she opened her eyes, all she could see were his dark eyes filled with questions. She stepped closer to him, offering her lips, knowing that only they held the answers he needed.

He kissed her softly, brushing his lips over hers, testing her response. When she leaned into him, Luke deepened the kiss, gathering her to him as he wrapped his arms around her tightly. Her fingers raked through his hair as their tongues tangled once again, setting the room ablaze with the heat that shimmered through their bodies. His hands slipped under the hem of her sweater, desperate for the feel of her soft skin. Her fingers clawed at his shoulders, pulling his shirt up as they grappled with the fabric. He staggered back slightly, his footing uncertain in the sea of discarded clothing that littered her floor. Lorelai slid her hands to his sides and grasped his shirt, pulling his undershirt up with it. He groaned as the tightly tucked cotton rasped against the already straining material that covered his arousal.

"Lorelai," he said in a low, rough voice as she pulled the shirt free and began to push them both up over his chest.

"Shh," she whispered; intent on stripping them over his head. She tossed his shirts aside, adding them to the swirling pools of already discarded clothing before whipping her own sweater up over her head.

Luke drew in a ragged breath as she stood in front of him, her skin creamy and soft in sharp relief to the rich teal satin of her bra. When he failed to move, she unhooked the bra and let it slide down her arms, revealing her small, pert breasts. Luke curled his fingers into her waist, and then unable to resist, filled his palms with her, caressing the soft mounds reverently as she arched into his touch. He ran his thumbs over her beaded nipples, groaning in appreciation as they tightened further. He ducked his head and pressed his mouth to her neck, sucking gently on the tender skin as he kneaded her breasts, propelling her back onto the bed.

Lorelai let her hands slide over his smooth, hard back down to his ass, and squeezed it hard as she pulled him down on top of her. Luke pushed back on his hands, lowering his lips to her rose tipped breast and drawing her greedily into his mouth.

"Oh, yes, Luke," she breathed.

The sound of his name on her lips set him on fire like a match to kerosene. His hands became frantic, seeking every bit of her silken skin. He devoured her, tugging her nipple deep into his mouth as she slipped her hands between their bodies on a quest to free him of the jeans he had so carefully chosen for her. Luke moved to her other breast, nipping at the very tip of her with his teeth, and then pulling her into his warm mouth as she moaned and writhed beneath him. He felt his belt give way, and then the button on his jeans. And then, he felt her fingers slide along the denim encased length of his cock, and he realized that he wanted to feel her touch him more than he wanted his next breath.

He raised his head and pushed away, his eyes never wavering from hers as he rose up off of the bed and reached for the tab of his zipper. The rasp of metal against cotton filled the room, and Lorelai wet her lips in breathless anticipation. Luke toed off his shoes, and then quickly shucked his jeans and briefs, stripping off his socks with them. Then, he knelt on the bed as he reached for the button on her jeans. Lorelai raised her hips as he pulled the zipper down, urging him to hurry in his efforts to divest her of all barriers. Moments later, she lay bare, staring up at him as he tossed her clothes onto the pile.

Luke ran his hands up the inside of her thighs, his lips parting as she parted her legs for him. He swallowed hard and then asked in a hoarse voice, "Are you sure?"

Lorelai smiled tremulously and answered, "If you are."

Luke chuckled and then brushed his fingers lightly over her folds, biting back a groan as he felt the damp heat emanating from her. He teased her clit with the pad of his middle finger, watching as her breath caught and smiling as she whimpered softly.

"Nightstand," she whispered.

"What?"

"There are some in the nightstand," she said as she nodded to the small drawer in the table next to her bed.

"Oh. Oh, yeah," Luke mumbled as he lunged for the handle on the drawer.

He pulled it open and chuckled softly as he surveyed the jumble of notepads, pens, hair bands, Chapsticks and candy bar wrappers that served as clever camouflage for the packages of condoms that lie beneath. He grabbed the first one that came to hand, and pushed back onto his knees, quickly tearing the package open. Lorelai watched, unmoving and unblinking as he rolled the thin sheath of latex over his stiff cock. Once the task was accomplished he leaned forward, bracing his hands beside her head as he looked down at her with a puzzled frown.

"Are you sure?" he asked again.

"I'm sure," she answered with a nod. Lorelai drew one knee up and pressed her foot into the mattress as she raised her hips urging him to proceed. When he hesitated, she grasped his ass, her nails digging into the soft flesh as she pulled him to her.

Luke sank slowly into her wet heat, feeling her walls clench and release around him as he let her adjust to him. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply as she pulled him closer still, and pushed into her until he filled her completely.

"Ahh," she purred as he held himself still, pulsing deep inside of her.

"Good," he rasped.

"So good," Lorelai answered as she circled her hips beneath him, urging him to move. He stroked her slowly, watching the play of sensation on her face. She tightened around him, and he struggled for breath as he thrust faster, unable to resist the insistent pull of her body. Lorelai moaned and lifted her hips, meeting him stroke for stroke, smiling softly as he surrendered to her. "So good," she said again as he plunged into her. She watched him carefully, gauging his arousal by his struggle to keep his eyes open and his inability to close his mouth. When she sensed him getting close, she moaned his name, making all of the right noises as she clenched her muscles around him, driving him on.

"Lorelai," he gasped as his control snapped.

"Oh, Luke, Luke, Luke," she whispered as he thrust into her hard and deep. She moaned softly and then gasped a little as she scraped her nails over his back. "Oh! Oh!" she called out in a breathless voice, forcing all of her muscles to tense and shudder.

"Lorelai," he groaned, drawing her name out as he climaxed, his mouth hanging open as he gulped desperate breaths of precious oxygen.

She smiled at the ceiling as his arms gave out, and he collapsed against her, burying his face in her neck. She smoothed her hands over his back, stroking him soothingly from his ass to the nape of his neck.

"You'll stay?" she whispered in his ear.

"Yes," he answered as he pressed soft kisses to her neck and jaw.

"Do you have to open?"

"Um, yeah," he said regretfully.

Lorelai nodded as she ran her hand through his hair. "Well, I guess we won't have to worry about Babette seeing your truck here all night," she mused.

"No." Luke inhaled deeply, drinking in the scent of her perfume, and then pushed himself up, relieving her of his weight.

"Where are you going?" she asked with a frown.

"I need to, uh, condom," he reminded her.

"Oh."

Luke smiled sheepishly as he pulled away from her and then scooted off of the bed, padding naked to her bathroom. He closed the door behind him and then leaned against it, staring down at his rapidly dwindling manhood. He took a deep breath and then shook his head as he exhaled and pushed away from the door. "Idiot. You're such a fucking idiot," he muttered under his breath as he began to remove the condom. He dropped the condom into the toilet and then flushed it.

He moved to the sink and turned on the water before squirting some soap into his hands and rubbing them together angrily. He lifted his eyes to the mirror and whispered to his reflection, "You're an idiot, and she's a crappy actress."

****

It's so much easier to forget when you're hurtling through the night at over thirty thousand feet above the ocean. It doesn't take much; a good book, a shared joke, a black satin sleep mask, a pair of headphones. As you leaf through the Sky Mall catalog picking out early Christmas shopping ideas for anyone and everyone, it's easy to forget that not only have you screwed up your own life, but you took two others down with you. And even if you are the lone reading lamp burning in an otherwise darkened first-class cabin, it's easy to forget what it feels like to come under the glare of scrutiny shone by the one person you admire the most. No, this light is softer, glowing yellowish-white in the dim cabin as you watch the dust motes float lazily in its beam. _Poor dust motes_, Rory thought sympathetically. _Here, let me make it easier for you._ And with that, she reached up and turned out the light.

****

_This is all she wanted all along_, he realized as he stared up at the shadows that danced on her bedroom ceiling. _A warm body. Someone nearby. Didn't she know that she didn't have to sleep with me to get me to sleep with her?_ he wondered as he smoothed his hand over the silken hair spread across his bare chest_. I wish she hadn't. I wish we hadn't. What the hell was I thinking? After all of that in the truck, like she really wanted sex,_ he thought derisively. _Or, maybe she did,_ he thought as he peered down at her sleeping face. _Sex. Just sex._ His eyes drifted to her hand curled around his arm, her grip on him firm, even in her sleep. _No, this was what she wanted,_ he decided. _And that's fine. This is good. I can do this,_ he told himself as he closed his eyes and tried to will himself to sleep, knowing it was just a few short hours until the light of day. _I'd rather just have this than that. At least for a little while,_ he added with a soft sigh as he held her close while she slept.

_tbc_


	3. Shattered

**A/N: Thank you all so much for your wonderful feedback on this story. I appreciate it!**

**Shattered**

She dreamed of Venetian glass apples, hand blown and delicate, bright red and shiny, too delicious to bite.

_They shone in the soft light from the chandelier, piled carefully on one another in a beautiful Waterford bowl she had found at auction months before. It was as if they were made for each other, Italian glass offset Irish crystal. The apples were incredible. Smooth and flawless, she caressed them lovingly as she arranged each fragile work of art in the heavy bowl, knowing that these particular beauties would never be photographed for the Christmas catalog; they were hers. _

"_Mom, are you nuts?" Lorelai shouted, and one of the precious apples flew from her hands; shattering into a million pieces._

"_Really, Lorelai, look what you've done now!" Emily cried, covering her heartbreak with exasperation._

"_You have seventeen more. They won't all fit in the bowl anyway," Lorelai said with a careless shrug as she turned and stormed from the room._

_Emily reached into the packing crate and carefully withdrew another carefully wrapped apple. Gingerly, she began to unwrap it, marveling as each millimeter of perfection was unveiled. She held the apple in the palm of her hand, lifting it to the light as she smiled her pleasure._

"_Grandma?" Rory called softly; and Emily's fingers closed around the paper thin glass protectively._

"_Yes, Rory?" she answered as she turned to see her granddaughter hovering in the doorway where her mother had stood moments before._

"_Don't you think that Grandpa might get a little upset about how much money you, uh, we spent today?" Rory asked worriedly._

_Emily's fingers convulsed around the apple as she said only, "You let me worry about your grandfather."_

"_Okay," Rory murmured doubtfully, and then vanished before her grandmother's eyes._

"_Rory!" Emily called after her as she crushed the apple in her hand._

_Gossamer slivers of glass shredded her palm, the bright red shards mixing with the dark red of her blood. She stared at her hand as blood dripped onto the heavy linen tablecloth, seeping into the snowy white fabric and spreading through the fibers until it was saturated._

"_Hello, Emily," Richard murmured as he wandered into the dining room, his eyes focused on a sheaf of papers in his hands. "Sorry that call took so long. Is dinner ready?"_

"_Yes," Emily answered, still staring at her bleeding hand._

"_Wonderful," he said as he took his customary seat without even looking up._

_Emily moved to her chair, still holding her injured hand aloft, and watched the blood run in thick red rivulets down her arm as a faceless, nameless maid served their meal. The candlelight cast dancing shadows over the Venetian apples stacked carefully in the Waterford bowl, licking at the shimmering light that shone from the chandelier. She watched as Richard ate methodically, his eyes occasionally straying to the papers that he had brought to the table, but never to her. Emily stared at the expanse of crimson colored linen that separated them, wondering why she would ever think of using a red tablecloth when white would have set off Giorgio Baldi's incomparable apples spectacularly._

_Emily looked down at her hand and then curled her fingers into a fist, pushing the shards of broken glass deeper into her skin. "What do you think of these?" she asked as she nodded to the crystal bowl at the center of the table._

"_Hmm?" Richard asked, looking as if he hadn't realized that she was there._

"_The apples," she prodded. Emily's lips curved into a satisfied smile as she saw Richard's eyes scan the centerpiece, knowing that he would appreciate both their beauty and her cunning at having secured them._

"_Oh. I've always liked those," he said with a nod, and then returned his attention to his dinner._

_Emily pushed her chair back, and rose slowly. She moved to the side of the table, leaning forward to grasp the apple perched at the apex of her painstakingly constructed arrangement. She studied Richard's bowed head, and then closed her sticky fingers around the smooth façade of the faux fruit. Richard chuckled and shook his head as he read through his papers once more, impervious to the sound of Venetian glass shattering against the wall, deaf to his wife's howl of pain, blind to her heart's blood running down her arm and dripping from her elbow, filling a beautiful old Waterford crystal bowl._

"Grandma?" Rory called softly as she tapped on Emily's bedroom door.

Emily's frantic brown eyes scanned the opulent bedroom as she sat straight up on the bed, her heart hammering.

"Grandma?" Rory called again, tapping a little louder.

"Yes, Rory," Emily managed to choke out in a harsh whisper.

"I'm sorry. I know that you're tired, but I'm afraid if we sleep any longer we'll never adjust to the time change," Rory called through the door.

Emily pushed her tousled hair back from her face, smoothing it into place as she took a deep breath. "Yes, you're right," she answered.

She pressed her hand to her heart, trying to keep it from bursting from her chest. "I'll just freshen up a bit and then we'll see about dinner," she said, her voice growing stronger as her heartbeat slowed. "I think that we should go someplace fun," she called as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. "Someplace decadent," she added, finding both her footing and the cheerful, upbeat tone she was determined to cling to.

"Sounds good," Rory answered as she moved away from the closed door. "No hurry."

Emily looked down at her hands, searching for the tiny pieces of glass that prickled her skin, but finding none. She inhaled deeply, drawing the rarified air of the Empire Suite at the Four Seasons George V. She walked to her window and pulled back the sumptuous draperies. She stared out at the Eiffel Tower, and then looked down at the whole of Paris laid out at her feet. She gave her reflection a stiff nod and then whispered, "I need to adjust," as she turned away from the stunning view.

****

He was all over the place. The table by the window needed ketchup and steak sauce, the customers at the counter wanted refills, and Kirk was contemplating whether he wanted his grilled cheese cut into stars, triangles or lady fingers. His mind raced five steps ahead of him as he whirled through the diner, meeting needs, fulfilling requests, jotting down orders and wondering what the hell had happened the night before.

Lorelai hadn't been in. Luke knew he shouldn't be so surprised, but after growing accustomed to her nearly constant presence in his diner over the previous months, and given what had gone on the previous night, he was feeling her absence acutely.

"I just can't believe it," Babette whispered to Patty in a harsh voice. "She was always such a sweet kid!"

"Well, darling, even the sweet ones can turn a bit sour on you," Patty answered, paying no notice to the man hovering at her elbow.

Luke dropped her plate in front of her with a clatter, and Patty jumped guiltily. "Club on wheat," he growled, and then turned to deposit Babette's lunch in front of her. "Turkey and swiss on rye."

"Thanks, Doll," Babette said with a grin, reaching for her sandwich, oblivious to the fries that had jumped from the plate.

"Anything else?"

"Did you hear about Dean and Lindsay and Rory," she asked through stuffed cheeks.

"I heard," Luke grunted and then turned away.

"Wait, Luke," Patty called as she reached for his arm to stop him. She looked up at him with a sly smile and asked, "Have you spoken to Lorelai? Is it true?"

Luke's scowl deepened as he leaned down, planting his hands on the table as he glared at them. "You've known that girl most of her life, and now you want to sit in my diner and gossip about her? You're supposed to be their friends."

"We are their friends, we're just concerned," Patty said, switching tactics.

"Get the hell out!" he snapped as he pushed away, sending the table scooting across the floor.

"But, Luke…" Babette protested.

"Get out," he growled, enunciating each word.

"Luke, you know we love Rory, but this…" Patty began.

"Is too juicy to pass up?" he snarled. "Get out now."

"Our lunch," Babette argued.

Luke whirled and grabbed both of their plates, stacking them one on top of the other as he stalked to the door. The bells jingled as he yanked the door open and pitched both plates out onto the sidewalk. "Lunch is on me," he said as he slammed the door and stomped back to the kitchen.

Patty and Babette gaped at each other for a moment, and then slowly rose from their chairs. "He's right, we shouldn't be talkin' about her," Babette said sadly.

"No," Patty agreed as she followed her friend to the door.

"Poor Lorelai, she must be beside herself," Babette muttered.

"Yes," Patty agreed as she looked down at her lovely club sandwich splattered on the sidewalk. "We should clean this up before Taylor sees it," she said with a nod.

"Oh! Right," Babette gasped. She groaned as she bent down, gathering french fries, bread, meat and cheese and tossing them onto the largest remaining piece of a plate. "He's always been real protective of them," she commented as Patty tossed a handful of food into a nearby trash can.

"Yes, he has," Patty agreed.

"I guess he's a little upset," Babette said as she carried the food laden piece of dishware to the same can and dumped it.

"I have a broom at the studio," Patty said as she looked down at the debris.

The bells rang as the diner door opened and Luke appeared on the stoop holding a broom. "I've got it," he grumbled.

"Luke, dear, we were just curious," Patty said contritely.

"It's bad. The whole thing is bad," Luke muttered as he began sweeping the sidewalk.

"Yes," Patty sighed.

"I'll have Caesar make you new sandwiches," he said without looking up.

"Nah, that's okay, Doll," Babette said with a wave of her hand. "My hips didn't need the fries, anyway."

"I have a class starting in twenty minutes," Patty said with a shrug. "I'll have a Powerbar. Or six," she told him, smiling affectionately as his head jerked up in surprise. "I'm sorry that we upset you, Sweetheart."

"Sorry I threw your lunch out the door," Luke mumbled as he bent to sweep the remains into a dust pan.

Babette nodded and then blew out a heavy sigh. "They're young, ya know? You make lots of stupid mistakes when you're young."

"Yeah," Luke grunted.

"Oh, the mistakes I made," Patty said with a rueful smile. She took Babette's arm and led her away from the diner as she asked, "Did I ever tell you about the time I skinny dipped in Buckingham Fountain? That was in Chicago. Lord, it was hot that summer. I was with the road company of _West Side Story_…" her voice trailed off as they wandered toward the dance studio. She glanced over her shoulder to be sure that Luke was out of range and then said in a rush, "I went in to set up for my Sunday Samba class, and Rory and Dean were in my studio. They said that they were just talking, but they looked guilty…"

Luke dumped the rest of their lunch and the plates that once held it into the trash can and then walked tiredly up the steps, the bristles of the broom bouncing against each one. He trudged through the diner to the store room and carefully put the broom and dust pan back in their proper places. He closed his eyes and sagged against the wall, pulling the cap from his head as the bill hit the wall and pushed it off kilter.

Running the band of his hat around in his fingers, he opened his eyes and stared down at it. He remembered the night Lorelai had first placed it on his head, and then smiled as he recalled her promptly removing it and turning it around, pressing it down firmly with her hands. Her hands. The same hands that ran through his hair last night. The very hands that stroked him, coaxed him, and tempted him into her bed. The hands that clung to him in the darkest hours of the night, but released him without a fight in the pre-dawn light.

His fingers curled around the bill of his cap, shaking it out before turning it around and affixing it firmly to his head once more. He wanted to be mad. His ego was bruised and battered; aching with the knowledge that she hadn't really given herself to him, but rather, had taken whatever he had to give. He wanted to be angry, because when he was angry with her it was so much easier on his heart. The anger made it easy to dismiss hastily scrawled apologies written on paper with a fat cat inhaling a pan of lasagna. The anger would ease the pain inflicted on his masculine pride. The anger would have made it possible for him to slip from between her flowered sheets without needing to press one last kiss to her forehead and tuck her bare arm snugly under the blankets. But the anger was nowhere to be found.

Instead, he felt remorse. He wondered if somehow, deep down inside of him, he always knew that it wouldn't be all that he thought it would be. He wondered if maybe, in that spot buried deep within him, he had known all along, and simply didn't care as long as he got what he wanted. He'd had her. He'd had her naked, soft, warm and willing, pressed beneath him. He'd had her, hot, wet and tight, wrapped around him, squeezing him, taking him in and holding him there, pulsing inside of her.

He didn't want to hear about Rory and Dean and the mess that they had made. He didn't want to know that her parents' marriage was falling apart after nearly four decades. It all hit too close to home. All around him, marriages were crumbling. It didn't matter if they were marriages made of carefully honed convenience, youthful optimism or drunken desperation. It didn't matter if they had lasted thirty-nine years, nineteen months or the nine hours it took to sleep it off. It didn't make any difference if you were playing the society game, playing house or playing a role. A marriage was a marriage, no matter what anyone else believed.

Lorelai had never believed that his marriage was for real, but it was. He had to believe that it was; that he hadn't made such a colossal mistake for no reason at all. He'd tried to explain it to her, but he knew he had failed, just as he had failed Nicole. What he'd said was true, though, it wasn't horrible. He'd liked Nicole, except when she was yelling at him. He'd liked spending time with her, except when that time was eaten up with argument after argument. He'd liked sleeping with her. Not just the sex, which in all honesty was better than what he'd had the night before, but just sleeping with someone nearby. A warm body to hold onto, the sound of her breathing lulling him to sleep, the long graceful curve of her neck as he pressed his lips to it, the smell of feminine perfume mixed with April fresh fabric softener on crisp cotton pillowcases.

That was why he couldn't be angry with Lorelai.

Luke asked himself if maybe that wasn't what he had wanted all along. Just that part of her, not all of her. All of her might be too much. He didn't know if he could handle having all of her and everything that came along with her. Truth be told, he wasn't sure that he was ready for her. But, ready or not, he wanted her. This was his chance to have her. He couldn't let her slip away. He was in, all in, no matter what it cost him. But, he couldn't help thinking that no matter how good his intentions were, maybe last night he had gotten exactly what he had deserved.

****

The Louvre is completely different when your ears are filled with the dulcet tones of a knowledgeable tour guide and not the constant refrain of, "Saw it! Cool, good!" The Louvre can be soothing, despite the crowds and a cacophony of hushed voices rising to a dull roar. The Louvre can be your haven when your grandmother is suffering from jet lag and the thought of being trapped in a plush, luxurious hotel suite is unbearable. The Louvre is the perfect excuse and the perfect escape.

The Louvre holds breathtaking works of art that take hold of you, pull you in, take you out of your head and offer you refuge. That is until you find yourself face to face with a portrait of two young girls reading a book painted by Pierre-Auguste Renoir. One was fair, one was dark and neither was the spitting image, but still, there they were. Suddenly, Rory was at home in her room a notebook covering the open pages of a textbook while Lorelai hovered at her shoulder, quizzing her endlessly on names, dates and facts. She blinked rapidly and stared at the dark haired girl, wondering if she grew up to wear a ruffled red bonnet, wondering if she successfully eluded the ardent advances her dance partner, wondering if she flinched.

Flinching, Rory stepped back, her heel landing directly on the toes of the young man behind her. She jumped and turned, pulling the headset from her ears as she whirled. "Oh! Excusez-moi!" she cried as she pressed her hand to her flushed cheek.

"No problem," he replied with an easy smile.

"I'm sorry," Rory mumbled as she ducked her head and moved quickly away from the tall man with the messenger bag slung across his body.

"You're American," he said as he followed her from the exhibit hall.

"Uh, yeah," Rory said dismissively.

"So am I," he said, pushing back the hair that flopped down on his forehead.

"Enjoy your trip," she called as she spotted a ladies room at the end of the corridor and hurried for the door.

Once safely inside, she locked herself into the first available stall and pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead, trying to get a grip. That Renoir portrait had looked nothing like his _Dance at Bougival_, why did she see her mother? That boy looked nothing like Dean, why did she run? What possibly made her think that she would be safe here? Here, where Lorelai tried valiantly to talk her into recreating _Psyche Revived by Cupid's Kiss _for the perfect Kodak moment.

Once again, Rory chose flight. She bolted from the stall and out of the door, hurrying down the crowded corridors, trying to find her way to the exit. She burst from the Passage Richelieu and slowed to a walk as she stared at the pyramids designed by I.M. Pei, knowing that its inverted mate was reflected in the lobby below. She walked toward the steel and glass structures, thinking about Robert Langdon and his quest to crack _The DaVinci Code_.

_Mary Magdalene; prostitute or penitent, saint or sinner? Was she both? Neither? Can a sinner become a saint? Should she be reviled or was she truly redeemed? Sacred vessel or scarlet woman?_

Rory turned away from the panes of glass rising from the plaza, afraid of which she might see reflected there. She ducked her head and scurried through the wandering throngs of tourists, praying she could easily find a cab, wishing she had stayed wrapped in the gilded cocoon her grandmother had secured for them, hoping that there she could find at least a tiny bit of who once was, or at least, some semblance of who she wanted to be.

****

Lorelai shifted from foot to foot, surreptitiously checking the time on her cell phone as Michel droned through yet another staff meeting. She was anxious, antsy even, to get to Luke's. Her morning had started late, after she slept peacefully through her chirping alarm. She'd had to rush to get to the inn to for a series of last minute meetings with suppliers and Tom to work through the nitty gritty details that needed to be handled before their first paying guests arrived that weekend. She tried to mask her impatience through the endless interviews necessary to rehire the kitchen staff that Michel had frightened away. She nodded distractedly as that same man lectured the staff that hadn't run screaming after the test run. When the meeting broke up, she took one last peek at the clipboard she held clutched in her arm and then headed for the office to retrieve her purse.

"You okay, Honey?" Sookie asked as she trailed after her friend.

"I'm fine," Lorelai replied, flashing that practiced smile.

"Are you sure? You seem a little preoccupied today," Sookie persisted.

"I'm good, just a lot of stuff to do," Lorelai answered quickly.

"It's okay, you know, if you're not okay," Sookie said quietly as she closed the office door behind them. "I mean, I'm sure you're upset," she said hesitantly.

"I'm fine," Lorelai insisted as she pulled the bright red purse she had carried the night before from her desk drawer.

"Okay, well, if you need to talk…" Sookie backed away from the door as Lorelai made a beeline for it.

She stopped in her tracks and turned to look at her best friend, the friend who loved her daughter as if she were her own. Lorelai shook her head slowly and said, "She's grown now, Sook. I don't get to make her choices and I can't fix them for her."

"No, you can't," Sookie said quietly.

Lorelai sighed and then reached for her friend, pulling her into a quick, tight hug. "She has to figure this out for herself. I don't think there are enough cookies in the world to help her right now," she whispered.

"I know. I miss the days when white chocolate macadamia brownies could solve anything."

Lorelai pulled back and smiled sadly. "Me too, Sook. Me too." She took a deep breath and said, "I have a million things to do, so I'd better…"

"Can I help?" Sookie asked quickly.

Lorelai smiled as she said, "Nah, they're just little things nagging at me. It's easier if I keep busy."

"Okay, well, you know where to find me," she said dropping her voice to a low, conspiratorial tone.

"I do," Lorelai assured her, and then made her escape.

In truth, she had only one thing to do on her to-do list, see Luke. She awoke that morning feeling refreshed and recharged, having slept better than she had since the night spent in Jackson's zucchini patch. She smiled as she climbed into the Jeep and tossed her purse onto the passenger seat, remembering the way his lips curved into that small smile as he plucked a wayward piece of straw from her hair. Replaying the scene in her mind, she had to bite back a giddy laugh at the way he had backed away, his eyes locked on hers as he bumped into his truck. She drove through town, her heartbeat speeding up as she spotted the coffee cup sign swaying in the breeze. She pulled to the curb and peered through the windshield into the deserted diner.

_Afternoon lull_, she thought as she killed the engine and reached for her bag. _No better way to pass the afternoon lull than a little flirting_.

Lorelai climbed from the Jeep, her face lighting as she spotted her target emerging from the back room. She walked slowly to the door, admiring the broad expanse of his flannel encased shoulders and the way his strong chest narrowed to his hips. She knew now just how strong his arms were, just how smooth his back felt under her fingertips, just how hard his body was as it pressed into hers. Today she would be better. There would be no more repeats of last night's disastrous date. Today, her head would be in the game.

The bells chimed as she walked through the door, and Luke raised his head in surprise. "Hi," she called, her face lighting with a smile as his eyes met hers.

"Hey," he answered as he lowered a stack of receipts to the counter.

"Miss me?" she asked flirtatiously as she dropped her purse on a stool and then slid onto her usual perch.

"Oddly enough, yes," he answered honestly.

"Place feels empty now, huh?" she teased.

"It could be because it is empty." Luke turned to the coffee maker and asked, "Here or to-go?"

"Here, please." Lorelai lowered her chin to her palm, admiring the fluid grace with which he moved.

"Uh, busy day?" he asked as he placed her favorite mug in front of her and then filled it with a generous amount of the rich, dark brew.

"Ugh, too busy," Lorelai said as she hooked one finger into the handle and turned the mug as she pulled it closer. "But I feel pretty good about things," she added with a nod.

"You do, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Well, uh, that's good," he stammered as she favored him with a slow, intimate smile.

"How about you? Are you having a good day?" she asked as she raised the mug to her lips. Lorelai moaned softly as the hot liquid coursed down her throat, and Luke stared at her, transfixed.

"Me? Oh, fine," Luke said as he gave his head a slight shake as she lowered the mug to the counter.

"That's good." Lorelai traced the rim of her mug with her index finger as she looked up at him with a shy smile.

Luke couldn't resist returning that smile with on of his own. He cleared his throat and then ducked his head as he asked, "You hungry?"

She shook her head. "No, we had lunch at the inn. Staff meeting," she explained.

Luke smirked and asked, "Do you even have a staff anymore?"

Lorelai laughed and said, "Part of one. I think they've figured him out."

"Good."

The bells above the door rang out, and then both turned as Kirk walked in and staggered to the first table, falling into the seat dramatically.

"Kirk! What's wrong?" Lorelai asked with a worried frown.

"It's three o'clock," Luke grumbled as he turned toward the kitchen, clearly not impressed.

Lorelai stared as Kirk sat at the table, nearly catatonic. "Are you okay?"

"He's fine," Luke said as he emerged holding a piece of chocolate cake and a tall glass of milk. He placed them in front of Kirk and stepped back as the scrawny guy attacked with gusto. "His blood sugar drops," Luke told Lorelai as he skirted the end of the counter and walked back to his previous spot.

"Man, that looks good," Lorelai said softly.

With a sigh, Luke turned toward the kitchen again, but stopped when she caught the sleeve of his shirt. "I have more," he told her.

Lorelai smiled and shook her head. "Not now. Maybe you, uh, maybe you could bring some over later and we could watch a movie," she asked hopefully.

Luke chewed the inside of his cheek, clearly torn as he was caught in the gravitational pull of those bright blue eyes. The spell was broken, though, when she dropped an awkward wink. He stepped back slightly, shaking his head as he said, "I can't tonight. I have to close and then I have really early deliveries in the morning."

"Oh," Lorelai whispered, her disappointment evident as she dropped her gaze to the coffee in her mug.

"Another night," Luke said quickly.

"Sure," she said, plastering her fall-back smile onto her face as she looked up again. "I should… I need to go, I have a thousand things to do," she said as she slipped from her stool.

"Here," Luke said as he grabbed the coffee pot and a to-go cup. He filled the cup almost to the rim and then pressed a lid onto it. "I'll, uh, call you, if I can. If not, I'll see you tomorrow, right?" he asked cautiously.

"Sure. I'll see you tomorrow," Lorelai said as she accepted his parting gift. She pressed her hand to the lid for a moment, covering the spot his hand had covered moments before. "Bye," she said as she grabbed her purse and hustled for the door.

"Hey," Luke called after her as the bells rang out. When she paused to look back at him, he hesitated for a fraction of a second and then asked, "You want me to put some cake in a box for you?"

Lorelai mustered up a weak smile and said, "Nah. I have Oreos at home."

"Okay, well, uh, bye," Luke responded slowly as he lifted his hand in a half wave.

"Bye," she called, pulling the door closed behind her as she fled.

****

Richard sat in the middle of the couch puffing on a cigar. Every once in a while, he carelessly flicked his ashes toward the heavy crystal ashtray perched on the creamy upholstery and blew a plume of smoke into the air. _Emily will want to replace the draperies, _he mused. _Good, I've always thought that these were atrocious._ The ice cubes in his glass tinkled as he lifted it to his lips, closing his eyes as he sipped the smooth scotch, letting it trip along his tongue and slide down his throat.

The antique grandfather clock in the hall ticked the seconds loudly as he enjoyed his post-dinner drink and cigar. The latest in Emily's constant string of maids was in the kitchen cleaning up after the meal. He heard the occasional rattle of a plate or dull clank of a pan, but knew that he would not see the timid woman again that night. He smirked as he sat back on the torturously uncomfortable couch, wondering if the woman in the other room was even remotely aware that she was about to enjoy the longest tenure of any hired help ever to grace their doorstep. He clamped his cigar between his teeth and smiled as he lifted his glass to Whatshername in silent salute.

He closed his lips around the cigar and bit down on the tightly wrapped tobacco as he mapped out his week ahead. Meetings with Floyd and a potential new client would consume most of his waking hours, and there was a new biography on Alexander Hamilton he had picked up at a bookstore to fill his evenings. Richard looked down at his scotch with a frown as he pulled the cigar from his mouth. _I need my grey Baroni. I wonder if Emily still has the cleaning done at Henderson's._ _And the blotter. I must remember to send the security team that case of Crown Royal I promised in exchange for not publishing the report on that little altercation Emily and I had a few nights ago,_ he reminded himself. _What could she have possibly been thinking?_ he asked himself as he rattled the cubes in his glass. _When did my poised, lovely wife turn into a screaming shrew?_

No, he didn't recognize the woman that Emily had become. Frankly, he missed his focused, self-contained Emily. This new Emily frightened him. She reminded him too much of the woman who wouldn't get out of bed for a month. But this Emily did not take to her bed. This Emily packed her Vuitton bags and took off to Europe. His Emily would never do that. His Emily wouldn't tear through their bedroom like a hurricane, tossing clothes, jewelry and lingerie into her monogrammed steamer trunk. _What would Emily need lingerie for, anyway?_ Richard shook his head, refusing to even entertain the thought.

No, his Emily planned every excursion in meticulous detail. There were lists, and ensembles chosen to match their itinerary. His Emily spent weeks confirming every stop, scheduling every sight to be seen, and planning every breakfast, lunch and dinner. His Emily didn't shimmy out of her skirt one night and then fly off to Paris the next. Richard raised his glass to his lips and drank deeply, this time barely tasting the alcohol until it burned in his throat, oddly soothing.

The clock ticked loudly in the hallway as he heard the back door open and close quietly. Moments later, headlights skimmed over the landscaping as his lucky, lucky maid departed after another successful day of employment in the Gilmore household. He studied the glowing tip of his cigar thoughtfully. _No, I don't know this new Emily, but I do know one thing. If my Emily were here, I'd never have to endure that dried up excuse for pot roast again,_ he thought sadly.

****

Rory slipped into the suite she shared with her grandmother, and tried to latch the door quietly behind her so as not to alert Emily to her presence.

"Rory!" Emily called as she rushed from her bedroom, looking more rested than she had in weeks.

"Oh, hi Grandma, I wasn't sure if you were still sleeping," Rory said as she tucked her hair behind her ear.

"Oh no," Emily answered with a sparkling laugh. "How was the Louvre?" she asked engagingly.

"Oh, it was, uh, wonderful, as always," Rory answered with a slight shrug and a nervous laugh. "Not that I go to the Louvre very often, but…"

"It is always wonderful. Just to be near all of that breathtaking art," Emily said breathlessly. "So, you had a nice afternoon?"

"Very nice."

"Good. Well, I have some wonderful news," Emily said as she clasped her hands together.

"Oh?" Rory asked hopefully.

"Yes! My sister Hope called. She is in Paris, and tomorrow she will get to meet my brilliant, beautiful granddaughter," she said as she wrapped her arm around Rory's waist and pulled her toward the sitting room.

"Oh, that's nice," Rory said, unexpectedly uplifted by the news. "I've always wanted to meet her."

"You're just going to love, Hopie. She's so full of life, interested in everyone and everything," Emily extolled. "You are a lot like your Great-Aunt Hope," she murmured as she gave Rory as gentle squeeze.

"I was so sad that she was in Africa when Mom and I were here last year," Rory said as she dropped her bag to the floor and sat down on the couch.

"Yes, well, Hopie loves a life filled with adventure."

"I hope I'm like her in that respect too," Rory said excitedly.

"You are, Rory, you are," Emily assured her. She pressed her hand to her heart and said, "I was just so worried that we'd miss each other. Usually my trips to Paris are not as spontaneous as this one."

"No," Rory acknowledged, her smile fading slightly.

"We're having lunch with her tomorrow, and then we're going to turn you lose to explore Paris while I have my measurements checked with Madame Broussard."

"Madame Broussard?"

"She runs my favorite little modiste," Emily whispered. "She does the most wonderful daywear, and I like to treat myself every once in a while," she added with a modest shrug.

Rory stifled the laugh the bubbled in her throat as she eyed the woman who took 'treating herself' to a whole new level. "Well, that sounds good."

"It's going to be a lovely day," Emily confirmed. "Now, what do you say to the thought of ordering dinner from room service and making it an early night? We have Bulgari bubble bath at our disposal, and I'd really like for both of us to be at our best tomorrow."

"That sounds good," Rory said with a slow nod.

"Wonderful!" Emily said as she leapt from the couch and hurried to the writing desk to retrieve the room service menu. "How do you feel about foie gras?" she murmured as she perused the selection of starters.

"About the same as the goose does," Rory answered solemnly.

Emily laughed gaily and said, "Its duck foie gras, you delightful girl," as she reached for the phone. "Leave everything to me. We're going to have a meal fit for a queen."

****

Lorelai pushed the power button on the remote control and tossed it aside sullenly. She slumped back into the couch, crossing her arms over her chest as she sulked. _I can be a movie guy._ She snorted and shook her head. _I'm in. I'm all in. Yeah, well, you weren't 'all in' tonight, buddy,_ she thought angrily. She glared at the clock on the DVD player, noting that thirty minutes had passed since his usual closing time. She chewed her lip for a moment and then pushed herself from the couch. _Well, I don't need you to entertain me. I have plenty that I could be doing,_ she thought as she carried her empty Cheryl Ladd plate to the kitchen sink. _I could finish those pillows. I could put my laundry away, that's a noble undertaking,_ she told herself as her fork slid from the plate and into the sink with a clatter. She watched as it slipped down through the rubber flaps and hung there suspended above the garbage disposal.

Lorelai pressed her lips together and set her plate on the counter as she stared at the fork. Without thinking, she reached down and gave it a gentle push, knocking it into the disposal. She turned and looked at the cordless phone perched silently on its charger. And then, she sprang into action.

She grabbed the phone as she passed by on her way to the stairs, and then took them two at a time. Lorelai tossed the phone onto her unmade bed, and began scooping up armfuls of discarded clothing. She dumped them into her hamper and crammed the lid shut with the heel of her hand. When she turned toward her dresser, she gasped as she saw even more piles of clothing strewn over every surface. Gathering all that she could hold, she tossed the clothes into her closet and then closed the doors as much as she could over its bulging contents. She turned back to the bed, eying the rumpled sheets suspiciously as she tried in vain to remember when she had last changed them. Giving up, she rooted through the linen closet until she unearthed another set that were not too worn, not too flowery, and not covered in cartoon characters.

"Need to buy sheets," she muttered under her breath as she bustled back to the bed.

She quickly yanked the flat and fitted sheets from the foot of the bed, freeing the mattress from captivity if only for a few minutes. Then, she tossed her pillows on top of her comforter as she quickly remade the bed, tucking the crisp sheets in tightly and surveying the delicate floral pattern critically. With a shrug, she reached for the pillows and began stripping off the cases. As she moved toss them on top of the discarded sheets, Lorelai paused and lifted one to her nose. She inhaled deeply, and then frowned as she dropped it onto the pile and lifted the other. _Jackpot. _She sighed as she breathed in the scent of bar soap and masculine perspiration. Fueled by her hit of Luke-scent, Lorelai finished making the bed and smoothed the comforter into place.

After the discarded sheets were wadded into a ball and pitched into the closet, Lorelai leaned back against the door and surveyed the scene. "Good enough," she murmured as she pushed away from the closet, her eyes fixed on her dresser. She pulled open the top drawer and began to rummage around in the back, knowing that she had just seen what she was looking for not too long ago. With a frustrated grunt, she shoved the drawer back in and yanked the second drawer open. She pawed through its contents, searching by feel as well as by sight. "Aha!" she cried as she pulled a swatch of pale blue satin and lace from the depths of the drawer.

She stepped back, grasping the spaghetti straps of the teddy that was purchased as a part of a trousseau for a honeymoon that never happened. It had never been worn, but Lorelai always maintained that it was too pretty to throw away. Letting the scrap of satin and lace dangle from her fingertips, she reached for the phone and dialed with her thumb.

****

He wasn't surprised when his apartment phone rang. He wasn't surprised by who was calling or the cockamamie story she had given him about her garbage disposal rattling and her urgent need to dispose of things. He wasn't surprised by the soft plea he heard in her voice, but he was surprised by how easily he gave in to it. Luke hung up the phone and ran his hand through his hat flattened hair, debating whether he had time to shower before the next phone call came. He tucked his chin to his chest and lifted his shirts from his neck, taking a sharp whiff. With a grunt, he carried his bottle of beer into the bathroom with him and started the water in the tub. He took one last pull on his beer as the water warmed, and then placed it on the lip of the sink before stripping out of his clothes. He started the shower spray and then stepped into the tub, reaching for his shampoo before his hair was even wet. Ten minutes later, he had shaved, dried off and stood in front of his closet in his underwear, just as he had the night before.

Clenching his jaw, he yanked a pair of clean jeans from a hanger and then turned back to his dresser for a t-shirt. As he tucked it tightly into his jeans, Luke debated the merits of donning his flannel armor, wondering if it could withstand the onslaught of Lorelai Gilmore. Figuring he was better safe than sorry, he pulled his oldest, softest blue plaid from a hanger and slipped his arms into it. Five minutes later, he picked up his keys and walked to the apartment door. He froze with his hand on the knob and looked back at his closet. Deciding that it would be better to keep up the pretense, he stalked back across the apartment and pulled his toolbox from the closet floor.

He walked through the quiet streets not daring to think too hard about what he was doing. He pushed aside the memory of her hopeful smiles that afternoon and focused instead on the possible causes of her garbage disposal distress, telling himself that if he was gonna buy in, he should go whole hog. He climbed her porch steps and knocked softly on the frosted glass, tightening his grip on the handle of his toolbox as he waited.

He wasn't surprised when Lorelai answered the door in nothing but a fluffy bathrobe. He wasn't surprised by her nervous rambling as she stepped back and allowed him to enter. He wasn't surprised when she led him into the kitchen, gesturing for him to go ahead and take a look at the sink. He wasn't surprised with he reached in and felt the fork that had somehow fallen through the rubber flaps. And, when he turned around holding the fork aloft, he definitely wasn't surprised to find that her robe had slipped from her shoulders, hanging open to display the pale blue lingerie she wore beneath.

"A fork," he managed to grunt, as he turned away from her and tossed the piece of cutlery to the counter.

"My hero," she said with a husky laugh.

What surprised him the most, were the words that came out of his mouth. "Lorelai, why are you doing this?" he asked hoarsely as he gripped the edge of the sink.

Lorelai flinched at his words. "What do you mean?" she asked.

Luke turned back to her and waved his hand impatiently at her choice of nightwear. "This! This! Why are you doing this? What do you want from me?"

She took an involuntary step back as she blinked at the vehemence in his voice. "I think it's fairly obvious," she said murmured as she nervously glanced down.

Luke closed the distance between them in two steps and reached for the collar of her robe, yanking it back onto her shoulders and closing it tightly around her. "You don't want that," he said, his voice firm but rough.

"I don't?" she asked as she arched one eyebrow.

Luke shook his head, his face softening as he looked down at her. "Not really. I think last night proved that," he said softly.

"Last night?" she questioned. "Last night was great."

"Really? It was?" he asked as he took a step back and ran his hand over his face, tugging on his lower lip as he tried to marshal his thoughts. "If it was so great, why did you…" he stopped himself from asking the question he wasn't sure he wanted an answer to. "This isn't what you want, Lorelai."

"How do you know what I want?" she snapped.

"Because I know you," he answered quietly. "Like it or not, I know you."

"You don't know anything about me," she spat as she knotted the belt on her robe.

"Yes, I do," Luke asserted with a nod. "I know you, Lorelai. We've known each other too long to play these games with each other. I won't let you do this to me, do this to us."

"Do what? Have sex with my boyfriend?" she cried, incredulous. "God forbid!"

"I don't want sex," he shot back. When she reared back in shock, he shook his head and said, "I mean, yeah, I want sex, obviously I want sex. What I'm trying to tell you is that I'm not here for the sex."

"You honestly came over to fix my garbage disposal at ten o'clock at night?" she asked snidely.

"No. I came over because I know that you wanted me to come over," he said angrily. "I came over because I want to be with you. But, I didn't come over hoping to have a repeat of last night, because frankly, you're a crappy actress, and I didn't buy it!"

"What?" she gasped.

"I don't want that. I don't need that! If you just want to mess with my head, well, I have to tell you that you're too late, it's already all screwed up!"

"Luke," Lorelai said as she reached for his arm.

"No, dammit!" he said as he shook her off. "You know me better than that! Lorelai, if you wanted me to stay, why didn't you just ask me to stay?" he asked, his chest heaving with frustration and suppressed emotion.

"Stay?"

"Just ask me to stay, Lorelai, and I will. You don't have to trade anything for that," he said hoarsely.

Lorelai gaped at him, her eyes wide as his words sank in. And then they flashed with fire. "Trade? You think that was a trade?" she demanded.

"What was it? You obviously weren't overcome with passion, a burning desire to have me," he hissed, staring into her blazing eyes. "Were you, Lorelai?"

Lorelai shook her head and closed her eyes as she looked away, wrapping her arms tightly around her stomach.

Luke sighed as he glanced at the toolbox resting on her kitchen table. "Maybe we know each other too well," he said in a defeated tone as he reached for the handle. "Disposal's fixed. I'll see you later," he murmured as he hoisted the toolbox and headed for the front door.

He opened the front door and heard her voice. "Luke?" she called after him tentatively.

"What?"

"Will you stay?" she asked softly.

His boots fell heavy on the bare wood floors as he walked back toward the kitchen. "What?" he asked in a gentler tone.

Lorelai's feet stayed planted as she turned her body toward him and said, "Don't leave. I want you to stay. Please," she added as she met his eyes.

Luke lowered his toolbox to the floor and stepped back into the kitchen. "Will you stop shoving forks into your garbage disposal?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah."

He reached up and brushed a wayward curl back from her cheek. Lorelai instinctively turned into his touch, pressing her lips softly to his curled fingers. "Do you want me to stay?" he asked in a soft, deep voice.

"Yes," she answered, nodding as she met his steady gaze.

Luke took a deep breath and then said, "Okay, but you can't sleep in that."

"You don't like it?" she asked, genuinely surprised.

Luke rolled his eyes and said dryly, "No, not at all."

"So, does that mean we won't…" she asked, raising her eyebrows.

"That means that if I stay, you can't sleep in things like that."

"You want me to sleep without them?" she asked coyly.

Luke smiled, comfortable with the easy flirting they had always done so well. "I'm in no hurry, Lorelai. I'm not going anywhere."

Lorelai's brow knit for a moment as she digested his meaning. "Okay," she breathed.

"You got anything lined with armor?" he asked with a self-deprecating smile.

****

Her iPod shuffled to the next song, jarring her from her mellow mood and bludgeoning it into submission with a driving post-punk beat. The Distillers. Jess. Dean. Rory pushed the button to advance to the next song, sighing with relief as Claudine Longet started to sing _I Think It's Gonna Rain Today. _She settled back against her pillow and stared at her book blankly, wishing she didn't feel like her brain was on shuffle mode, wishing her thoughts could light long enough for her to sort through them. But they wouldn't. _Dean, Lindsay, Jess, Grandma, Grandpa, Mom…_ Thoughts flashed through her head in snippets, like a musical montage used for a radio contest. _Dean, Lindsay, Jess, Grandma, Grandpa… Mom. Miss Patty knew. If she didn't know then, well, she certainly knew by now. Everyone knew by now. Dean, Lindsay, Jess, Grandma, Grandpa… Mom. Is Mom dating Luke? Does Luke know? _Rory groaned at the thought, shuddering at the possibility that her favorite diner owner and bookshelf fixer knew what she had done. _Everyone knows,_ she thought as she sank deeper into the pillow and squeezed her eyes shut. _I'll have to abdicate my throne as Ice Cream Queen. _Somehow, the prospect of the end of her reign weighed more heavily than she had ever imagined, threatening to shatter her under its crushing force.

****

Richard tossed and turned, kicking the covers off one minute, and then pulling them up to his chin the next. _This bed to too damn big,_ he grumbled to himself as he stared at the ceiling, wide awake. _Too big for one person, too empty for a man who had shared it for over half of his life. Is she sleeping? _he wondered, and then cursed himself for his weakness. He turned onto his side, banishing thoughts of Emily, telling himself that he didn't know that Emily. But he missed his. He missed the sound of her breathing; he missed the scent of the lotions and potions she gently patted into her skin each night. He missed her laugh, it had been too long since he had heard it. He missed the trail of Chanel No. 5 and hairspray that followed her through the house. He blinked into the darkness, knowing the scotch wouldn't do the trick tonight. He gave in and rolled over, scattering his pride to the wind as he pulled her pillow to him and inhaled deeply. "Ahh, that's my Emily," he murmured as he pressed his cheek to her pillow and closed his eyes.

****

The drapes were drawn closed against the threat of early morning light, but the lamp beside her bed glowed softly. Emily rolled onto her side, adjusting the black satin sleep mask she wore before tucking her hand under the pillow. She sighed, willing her mind to slow and give itself over to the sleeping pill she had swallowed an hour before. _I wish you could still get Seconol_, she thought, scowling against the crisp white pillowcase. _Maybe you can get them here. I'll ask Hope, Hope will know,_ she assured herself. "Hope," she whispered drowsily as she pictured her younger sister. "I need Hope."

****

They lay tangled up in her bed, her leg draped over his, as he stroked the bottom of her foot with the top of his. They had talked of everything and nothing, or rather, she had. He chuckled and shook his head, contributing one and two word answers here and there as he tried to convince himself that her thin cotton pajamas were made of chainmail, and that the warmth of her breast pressed against his arm should not affect him so.

She had laughed as he hesitated to strip down to his t-shirt and boxer briefs. "Nothing I haven't already gotten an eyeful of," she reminded him gently.

He'd crawled between her clean flowered sheets, gathered her soft body close to him, and held her tightly as she debated the merits of last year's Summer Funfest versus the Lazy Hazy Days festival of the year before. When she'd lift her lips, he'd kiss them. When her hair tickled his nose, he smoothed it gently. When she sighed softly and rubbed her cheek against his cotton clad chest, he relaxed, matching his breathing to hers.

He had almost drifted off when he felt her hand tighten imperceptibly on his arm. Inhaling deeply a few more times, he dismissed the sensation as nothing more than a muscle spasm. And then he felt a warm, damp spot seeping into his shirt.

His breath hitched, and she whispered, "I'm sorry."

"Lorelai," he rasped, tightening his hold on her as she sniffled softly. "Shh," he whispered soothingly as he brushed his lips over her hair, covering the top of her head with tiny kisses. "It's okay. Everything will be okay."

"I don't know, Luke," she said softly. "I don't know what to do about any of it."

His heart broke into a million pieces as she sobbed softly against his chest, clutching his arm as he held her closer, almost pulling her on top of him.

"I don't know what to do," she whispered.

"I know, I know. We'll figure it out," he murmured, desperate to stem the flow of her tears. Lorelai nodded slightly and then snuffled loudly, and Luke couldn't help but smile at her unladylike snort. "We'll figure it all out."

She took a deep breath and rubbed her cheek to his chest a she moved her hand from his arm to this neck, feeling his pulse against her fingertips. She sighed softly as she melted into him, giving herself over into his capable hands as she pressed her lips to the cotton that covered his beating heart.

Luke pressed his lips to the crown of her head and exhaled long and slow. He closed his eyes, stroking her back gently as he felt at least a few pieces falling back into place.


	4. Floating, Falling

**Floating, Falling**

He wasn't sure if this was what he was supposed to do. She hadn't really asked him to, so he could be really wrong. _She can send me home_, he thought as he stepped into the shower and tipped his head back under the spray. Things had been okay today. _Better than okay, almost normal_, he told himself. _Better than normal_. Lorelai had come in for breakfast lunch and dinner that day.

As he trudged home through the darkened streets early that morning to meet his bread supplier, he wasn't sure if she would come in at all. But she did. At first she seemed a little subdued. _Shy_, he corrected himself. _She'd been a little shy at first, but a cup of coffee and an extra chocolate chip pancake added to her stack had quickly cured that._

"What's this for?" she asked as she smiled up at him.

"I had extra batter," he said with a shrug, busying himself with refilling the dish on the counter with packets of sugar.

"Extra batter?" she asked with a knowing smile.

He shrugged again, fighting back his own smile as he abandoned the sugar and turned toward the kitchen. "I was up early," he said nonchalantly.

"Score! Hey, while you're feeling generous, how about a refill?" she called after him.

"I'm over it now," he answered as he disappeared into the kitchen.

"Luke," she groaned. Her scowl turned upright as soon as he reappeared and lifted the pot from the burner. "You are an angel," she breathed as he filled the mug with steaming black gold.

"And don't you forget it," he mumbled and then went make his rounds.

Yes, she had been a little shy at first, but he had known she would be. Luke reached for the bar of soap and began to quickly lather his body. Lorelai wasn't one to pour her emotions out to anyone. Neither was he. And he had to admit that he had felt a little nervous about seeing her. He could only recall two other times when he had seen Lorelai so upset, and both times, it almost killed him. The first was after Rory's dad bailed on her once again, the next was when she crumpled onto a park bench and wept openly, terrified that her dream was slipping through her fingers. The first, he had soothed with a donut and a tacit agreement to cease hostilities. The second, he had held her in her arms while he mentally calculated his bank balances, shifting finances around in his head so that it would be possible to write her a check the very next day. _But I can't fix this with donuts and checks. I can't fix this at all. Only Lorelai could fix this. Well, Lorelai and Rory,_ he amended as he stood under the spray, rinsing the lather from his body.

He had been surprised but happy when she breezed through the door a few hours later proclaiming, "I could eat a cow! I need dead cow now!"

"Sounds delicious," he had grumbled.

"It is," she concurred as she slid onto her favorite stool and beamed up at him. "Delicious, hot, juicy beef served on a nice firm bun and smothered in cheesy goodness."

"Firm?" he asked with an amused smile.

Lorelai glanced around to see if they could be overheard. "Very firm," she whispered suggestively, batting her eyelashes a bit for good measure.

Luke snorted. "Coming up. Fries or rings?" he asked as he headed for the grill.

"Oh, no onions for me, thanks," she replied with a dismissive wave of her hand.

"Fries it is."

"With chili and cheese!" she added, craning her neck to peek into the kitchen.

"May as well have the onions," Luke grumbled to himself as he dropped some fries into the hot grease.

He'd risked a peek around the corner and saw her smiling and chatting with Gypsy as only Lorelai could smile and chat with the smart-mouthed mechanic. It was good to see her smiling and chatting. He liked to see her smiling and chatting. A few minutes later, he flipped her burger and chanced another peek, only to see her throw her head back and laugh at something Miss Patty had said as she passed. He felt a brief moment of panic, and wondered if they were talking about him. Then he exhaled slowly as Lorelai launched into a story about their horse Cletus' most recent escapade. Luke chuckled to himself, having heard the whole story the previous night. Before the crying. Before the crying they had laid with their legs tangled up with each other's talking and laughing, teasing and kissing. It had been good. Really good. After plating her burger, he tossed some crispy golden fries onto another plate before smothering them in chili and topping the whole disgusting concoction with shredded cheese. And that's when he had realized that the crying may not have been a bad thing.

_She needed to get it out. I needed to hear it, even if there was nothing I can do to help her._ He stared down at the suds swirling around his toes and reminded himself that he couldn't always help her, even though that was what he wanted to do with every fiber of his being. _Lorelai is perfectly capable of helping herself_, he told himself sternly. _I just need to stay out of it, just be there for her; just hang onto her as she figures it all out._

Luke rinsed the last of the soap from his body and shut off the water as he snaked a hand out from around the curtain and groped for his towel. He dried off quickly and wrapped the towel around his waist as he stepped from the tub. He bent over the sink as he reached for his razor and prepared to scrape the day's stubble from his cheeks and chin. He smirked at his reflection, knowing that it was that magical beginning-of-the-relationship glow that forced him into a closer acquaintance with his disposable Schick and the often neglected can of Barbasol in his medicine cabinet. But, if it meant he got to spend an evening kissing Lorelai Gilmore, it was totally worth it as far as he was concerned.

As he scraped the razor through the shaving cream, he pictured her as she had been at dinner; her head bent over a legal pad, picking at her grilled cheese sandwich as she and Sookie went over the list of last minute things to do before the inn officially opened in three days. Not surprisingly, she had been distracted, favoring him with absent smiles as he delivered their food and gave refills without asking. He'd patently ignored Sookie's waggling eyebrows and knowing looks, seeking refuge behind his counter when he wasn't seeing to the needs of the rest of the dinner crowd. He watched as they gathered their things and stood to leave.

Sookie trailed Lorelai to the counter, unable to suppress her grin as he waved off Lorelai's request for their check with a gruff, "Protecting my investment."

Lorelai turned back to look at him as they opened the door and simply said, "See you later."

"See you later," he had answered with a nod, not knowing if it was a request or simply her way of saying goodnight.

So, here he was, freshly showered and shaved, his damp hair clinging to his neck as he ran a comb through it, preparing to show up at her door, unsure if he had been invited or not. He knew that he could simply call her and try to get a feel for if it was an invitation or not. Hell, he could just call her and ask her outright if she wanted him to come over. But, a part of him didn't want to do that. He wanted to see her. He wanted to spend time with her, to kiss her, to feel her snuggle up against him like she had last night and this morning. He knew that it probably wasn't fair or right, but that part of him knew that if he simply showed up at her door, it would be harder for her to send him away than if he called.

He dressed quickly, pocketed his wallet and keys and minutes later walked the darkened streets of Stars Hollow. It was only when he climbed her porch steps that he began to feel a bit of remorse for forcing the situation. He hesitated as he raised his fist to knock on the frosted glass, but somehow could not keep his knuckles from rapping against it. When she opened the door a minute later dressed in thin cotton pajama pants and a tank top and clutching a bowl of popcorn, he stepped back slightly and ducked his head.

"I wasn't sure if that was a see you later, 'See you later' or just, 'See you later'," he admitted quietly.

Lorelai smiled brightly as she reached for his wrist and pulled him through the door. "You're just in time, _Blazing Saddles_ is on." Luke smiled his relief as he followed her into the living room. She pointed to a smaller bowl of popcorn on the coffee table and said, "I left some unbuttered for you. Shoes off and feet up," she ordered as she flopped down onto the couch.

Luke did as he was told, settling into the corner of the couch. Lorelai dropped the smaller bowl between his splayed legs and then curled up against him, clutching her own bowl as she turned her face up for a kiss. He happily obliged and then glared at the over-buttered, over-salted imploded corn kernels in her bowl. "Next time I'll bring over a spare set of arteries for you," he told her with a pointed look.

"Would ya? That would be nifty," Lorelai said with a grin as she tossed a few kernels into her mouth.

He simply shook his head and turned his attention to the screen. He grabbed a handful of his own healthier snack and tipped his head back as he said, "This is a funny movie."

Lorelai beamed as he dumped the popcorn into his mouth. She watched him chew for a moment and then turned back to the television as she murmured, "I knew there was a reason that I liked you."

"Yeah?"

"Mel Brooks and me, you have excellent taste," she said as she patted his knee.

Luke smirked as he looked down at the greasy fingerprints on his clean jeans. "Feel free to use me as your napkin," he grumbled, fighting back a genuine smile.

"Thanks, I will," she answered and then proceeded to munch on a few more buttery kernels before turning and wiping her mouth on his flannel.

****

Emily cradled her glass of Perrier, lacing her fingers together as she sat back and watched her sister and her granddaughter interact. _Enthralled. That was the perfect word for them,_ she decided. And they were. Hope recounted adventure after adventure, indulging Rory's natural curiosity throughout their leisurely lunch, as Hope hung on Rory's every word, quizzing her great-niece about her every hope, dream and ambition. _And why wouldn't they be enthralled with each other? Look at them. Rory's so young, so bright; the whole world at her feet. And Hope. Hopie_, she thought with a sigh as she studied her younger sister. She had to bite back a smile as Hope absently tucked her sleek silver hair behind one ear and leaned in closer to Rory. She drank in the sight of her baby sister; marveling at the smooth silver fall of her stylish bob, the fetching way that the delicate webbing of tiny lines fanned around her warm brown eyes, her remarkably unfurrowed brow, and the bright flashing smile that was so breathtakingly like Lorelai's. _How have I never seen that before? Maybe it's because this is the first time I have ever seen Hope with Rory, _she mused as she placed her glass on the table and leaned forward, completely enthralled with the two of them together.

"And boyfriends? Do you have a special young man in your life?" Hope asked, her eyes lighting mischievously.

"Oh, uh, no. No one special," Rory answered a little too quickly. Emily brow puckered as she saw her vivacious granddaughter shut down before her very eyes.

"Oh, well, it's just as well. You're far too young to be tied down by something as fickle as love," Hope said with a lilting laugh. But her quick glance at her older sister told Emily that she had seen it too. "I didn't marry until I was well into my thirties, and even then poor James had to drag me to the altar kicking and screaming."

"Please, you were head over heels for the man. Still are," Emily added softly.

Hope shared a knowing smile with her sister, but her sunny disposition was unaltered by the mention of her late husband. "I was and am," she admitted to Rory conspiratorially. "He was the only man on earth who could possibly have put up with me."

"How did you meet him?" Rory asked, happy to deflect the spotlight.

"Oh, well, I was living here in Paris," Hope began.

"And everywhere else," Emily chimed in.

"Fine. I was headquartered here in Paris," Hope said as she rolled her eyes dramatically. "Your grandmother and I had each been left a tidy little nest egg by our dotty old Aunt Cora," she said with a naughty gleam in her eyes, daring her sister to contradict her assessment. When Emily held her tongue, Hope smiled. "I ran away to Europe, intent on becoming Leslie Caron, and your grandmother bought savings bonds, I do believe," she said teasingly.

"Treasury Bonds," Emily corrected automatically. "Richard invested it in Treasury Bonds."

Hope giggled and said, "I invested a good chunk of mine in wine." She sat back, pushing a hank of shining platinum hair behind her ear. She saw Rory's gaze drift to the large diamond drop earring that dangled from her ear and smiled delightedly, "Obscene, aren't they? These were a bribe."

"A bribe?"

"I find that once you turn down a man's third marriage proposal, they get a little desperate."

"You're shameless," Emily chastised her gently.

"No, I simply wasn't ready to be married," Hope said firmly. "Anyway, I was living in Paris working as a tour guide during the day and living la vie boheme at night." Hope waggled her suggestively, causing Rory to giggle and Emily to sigh. "I was just launching into my daily spiel on inspired gothic architecture and Notre-Dame de Paris, bathering on and on about restorations and stained glass," she continued with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I was walking backwards, my audience hanging on my every word," she let the story build, smiling as she saw that her great-niece was hanging on every word too. "And then I stepped on his toes," she announced triumphantly.

"You always were a bit clumsy," Emily said with a fond smile.

Hope laughed. "It's true. Mother was so thankful that I made it through my curtsy without falling flat on my face," she admitted.

"And then what happened?" Rory asked, anxiously awaiting the rest of the story.

"And then I looked up to see that I had assaulted the most handsome man I had ever laid eyes on," Hope answered with a dreamy smile, looking every bit the smitten young woman she had been that long ago afternoon.

"An Earl," Emily added with a nod.

"A minor Earl," Hope said with a dismissive laugh.

"He was listed in Debrett's," Emily argued.

Hope rolled her eyes dramatically and said, "That means nothing. I believe that Elton John is listed in there now." She folded her arms on the table and leaned closer to Rory. "He was incredible. Wasn't he, Emily?"

"Very handsome," Emily concurred.

"Tall and slender, with broad shoulders and that touch of Cary Grant grey around the temples. Of course, he was much too old for me," she said coquettishly.

"Not that it stopped you," Emily murmured.

"Nothing could have stopped me. _Coup de fondre_!" she said with a beatific smile.

"But you wouldn't marry him?" Rory asked with a puzzled frown.

"Oh no! That would have ruined everything. You see, James was only supposed to be in France for six weeks. He was in banking, international finance, actually. Hard to believe that such a vibrant, dynamic man could spend his days stuffed into a pin striped suit sitting behind a desk messing about with numbers," she mused. "No, I wouldn't marry him, but that didn't mean I didn't set out to make him mine. He was a widower with a nearly grown son off at school, I was a young American girl turned loose in Paris. I led him down the primrose path, plying him with cheap wine in tiny cafes, feeding him stinky cheese and rich dark chocolate in my modest little flat, peeling him grapes as he lay panting for more, of everything," she said breathlessly.

"Hope!" Emily admonished.

"Oh, Emily, she's not a child," Hope replied mildly. She turned back to Rory and gave her a bawdy wink. "It was all terribly decadent."

As Rory glanced from her grandmother to her great-aunt and back again, Emily chuckled and said, "Yes, we did have the same parents, but I'm not entirely certain that Hopie wasn't adopted."

"Yes, I am the proverbial black sheep and proud of it," Hope confirmed, proudly tossing her shining silver hair. "James stayed for six weeks, returned to England and then he returned to France within the month. He moved his offices to Paris and we were together from that moment on. When I traveled, he traveled. When he worked, I kept the gorgeous little flat he bought for us. When he proposed, I turned him down. You see, pledging to love him for the rest of my life seemed utterly unnecessary to me. I was his and he was mine, and that's all there was to it."

"But you finally said yes," Rory prodded.

"I did," Hope said with a sad smile. "We had been together for six glorious years, not bad?" she asked with a very gallic shrug of her slender shoulders. "We had six wonderful years," she murmured. She took a sip of the wine that had sat long forgotten on their table and then plastered that bright smile onto her face as she said, "James became ill, and well, he wanted me to be his Lady."

"Oh," Rory whispered.

"Oh, now do not be sad for me, you beautiful girl," Hope said as she reached out to caress Rory's cheek. "I had the love of my life," she said with a small shrug. "That's more than anyone could ask for."

And for the first time since the threesome greeted each other with continental kisses, the table fell silent. Hope glanced at Emily and then at Rory as they each drifted off into their own troubled thoughts. When the silence became unbearable, she smiled again and said, "I had an e-mail from Jimmy just the other day. The grandchildren are flourishing, the dogs are barking, and his boring English wife is just as plump and pleasing as ever."

"Oh, Hope, you are incorrigible. Lucy is a lovely girl," Emily said clucking her tongue.

"Your grandmother adores my step-son and daughter-in-law. They are the epitome of her idea of British gentry; right out of a Jane Austen novel," she whispered. "They really are lovely, if not a tad stifled. Now, I suppose that we have tarried for far too long, even by French standards," she told them brusquely. She turned to Rory and asked, "You have your guide books?"

"I do," Rory confirmed.

"Marvelous! You've spent far too long indulging two old women. Go! Be free! Take Paris by storm and make sure you step on some devilishly handsome creature's toes," she said as she shooed Rory from her chair.

Rory stood up, blinking rapidly as she tried not to think about the young man she had crushed in the Louvre the previous day. "Will I see you again before we leave?" she asked Hope.

"Oh, undoubtedly. We have loads of catching up to do, you and I," Hope assured her.

"That's great," Rory said with a genuine smile as she bent to kiss Hope's proffered cheek. She turned to Emily and said, "I'll be back before dinner time."

"Be careful, and don't just take any available taxi cab…" Emily began.

"Oh Emily, she'll be fine. Go! Run! Hurry while I distract your grandmother with my new Chanel bag," Hope said as she reached for her handbag and hoisted it threateningly.

Rory kissed her grandmother's cheek and then wove her way between the tables as she heard Emily say, "That is lovely, but I could never carry a purse so small."

Hope signaled for the check. "Nonsense. Nothing has changed, all you need is a compact, a lipstick and a dime to call home in case of emergency," she said as she rummaged for her compact and lipstick. "Now buy me lunch and we'll plunder the shops while you tell me what brings you to Paris."

****

It hadn't been a good day. First, his idiot of a new assistant booked the wrong tee time for the morning round of golf he and Floyd planned to use to woo a potential new client, and then he shot a terrible round. And at lunch, Floyd in his typical condescending manner made an embarrassing off-hand remark about Emily's inability to keep a maid, which forced him to defend her by explaining that his wife had impeccable taste and very exacting standards. He arrived home that evening to a meal of tasteless fish served on a bed of bland rice. He was beginning to suspect that Emily had purposefully prepared a menu of inedible meals for the inept maid she had left behind to torment him. _The imbecile couldn't even manage to locate his dry cleaning_.

Richard splashed scotch into a tumbler and carried it to his desk. He flipped through the enormous rolodex that Emily compulsively maintained and flipped through the index until he located the telephone number for the Hôtel de Crillon de Paris. He sat back in his chair and sipped his scotch, tapping his favorite fountain pen against his blotter.

"Yes, Mrs. Richard Gilmore's room, please," he said impatiently once the operator came on the line. He waited for a moment, his brows drawing together as he listened to the heavily accented woman claim that there was no guest registered under that name. He huffed and said, "Emily Gilmore, Mrs. Emily Gilmore." He waited a moment more and then his pen stilled as he blinked in confusion. "Yes, yes, thank you," he said as he gently replaced the receiver.

He opened his humidor and selected his after dinner cigar. Rolling it between his fingers, he studied the cigar as if were the first he had ever seen_. Emily always stayed at the Hôtel de Crillon when they were in Paris._ It never occurred to him to ask for an itinerary, his Emily was a creature of habit. His Emily was comfortable there, the staff knew her likes and dislikes and catered to them relentlessly, she liked to have her evening cocktail ensconced in a plush red velvet chair in the hotel bar.

_Where could she be? Surely they wouldn't stay at Hope's_, he thought with a frown. He knew Emily well enough to know that as much as she adored her sister, the two were like oil and water when it came to co-existing. _The Ritz? The Plaza Athenee? The San Regis? How dare she take off to Europe without at least leaving her emergency contact information, _he fumed as he cut the end from the cigar. He bit down on it and lit a wooden match; inhaling the strong scent of sulfur as it flamed. He dropped it into the large crystal ashtray that the maid cleaned and returned to his desk each morning, and watched as the last of the smoke dissipated. He drew on the cigar crossing his eyes to watch the tip glow orange red in the semi-darkened room.

_No, I won't chase her around Europe, tracking her down like a lovesick suitor. _All he wanted was his grey suit. And to know where she is._ After all, it's only reasonable that he should be concerned; Emily had never traveled on her own. And now, she had Rory with her. A man had a right to know if his beloved granddaughter was safe and sound, did he not?_ he told himself. Clamping the cigar between his teeth, he flipped through the rolodex until he located his sister-in-law's home telephone number. His hand rested on the receiver as he stared at the card graced with Emily's beautiful penmanship. _Hope. Maybe Hope can talk some sense into her, _he thought as he slowly withdrew his hand._ Perhaps Hope can find his Emily. _Richard sat back in his chair, telling himself that he'd have his idiot of a new assistant call around tomorrow to find his cleaning. He hoped that Hope could bring her back, because as much as he wanted his grey suit, he wanted Emily more.

****

"I bought you a toothbrush," Lorelai said as she emerged from the bathroom.

"You did?"

"Yes. I felt it was time to reclaim mine," she said as she held up a toothbrush with a blue handle. "Blue is for boys."

Luke rolled his eyes and said, "I did not use your toothbrush."

Lorelai gasped and asked, "You haven't brushed your teeth for the past two nights?"

"Well, I, uh, you know, with the toothpaste," he mumbled as he held up his index finger.

Lorelai smiled and held up the toothbrush as she leaned against the doorjamb. "I bought you a toothbrush."

"Thank you," Luke said as he reached for it, and for her. He kissed her softly and then stepped around her into the bathroom.

Lorelai turned and leaned her head against the door as she watched him squeeze toothpaste onto the brush. "You supervisin'?" he asked as he lifted the brush to his lips.

"Yep, gotta be sure you don't revert to finger brushing," she said with a nod. Luke rolled his eyes and braced one hand on the vanity as he began to brush. Lorelai stood where she was, watching the muscles in his arms and back tense and flex under his t-shirt. "I like having you here," she said quietly.

Luke looked up, not sure if he had heard her correctly over the running water. When his eyes met hers, he nodded slightly and then bent down to spit into the sink. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked up at her as he said, "I like being here."

Lorelai grinned as she picked up the hand towel she had dropped on the counter and offered it to him. "You're such a guy."

Luke smirked and asked, "Weren't you the one wiping your buttery lips all over my shirt?"

"You liked that," she said, backing up as he tossed the towel to the vanity once more and advanced on her.

He shrugged noncommittally and said in a soft, deep voice, "And you like that I'm such a guy."

"Boy, do I," Lorelai answered. Luke placed his hand in the center of her back, spreading his fingers wide as he held her firmly, but didn't pull her to him. He walked her slowly back into the bedroom, and Lorelai smiled up at him as she looped her arms around his neck. She glanced down at the space between their bodies and was reminded of the dance they shared at Liz and T.J.'s wedding. "Are we dancing?" she whispered.

Luke didn't reply. Instead, he kept his eyes locked on hers as he lifted his left hand, offering her his palm. Lorelai's smile grew as she lowered her right hand and daintily slipped her fingers into his hand. His long fingers closed around hers, but he did not lead her in a waltz. He moved slowly and steadily, shuffling her back toward the bed, his intense blue gaze never wavering. Once they reached the bed, he pressed his fingers into her back, urging her closer to him. He kissed her, pulling her even closer as his hand slid to her hip, his fingers curling into the thin cotton of her pajama pants. He angled his head, taking the kiss deeper, holding her to him as his tongue tangled with hers.

Using the momentum of his body, he pushed her back onto the bed, crawling up over her as he kissed her over and over again. Soft, slow kisses; long, lingering kisses; kisses so filled with barely tempered passion that Lorelai felt as if her body might combust from the heat of them. But, he held his body far above hers, not willing to risk the contact.

He pulled away, exhaling softly as he ran his hand over her hair, letting it trail lightly over the curls that tapered down over her shoulder and arm. "We should get ready for bed, it's late and I have to be up early."

"Tease," she murmured as she looked up at him, her eyes drowsy with desire.

"Gotta keep you interested," he answered and then kissed her sweetly.

"Oh, I'm interested," she said in a breathy voice as she arched toward him and pulled him down to kiss him again.

Luke groaned as he deepened the kiss and Lorelai buried her hands in his hair. When he pulled away, as breathless as he was that first night at the Dragonfly, he blinked slowly and then asked, "Wanna have dinner with me tomorrow night?"

"Dinner?"

"That's the one that comes a few hours after lunch," he explained helpfully.

"Ah, yes, I remember now." Lorelai said as she nodded at him sagely, still lost in his eyes.

When she still failed to answer, Luke stared down at her and said, "I was asking you on a date."

"Oh, yes," Lorelai said with a quick laugh. "Sorry, yes," she repeated as she plucked at the sleeve of his t-shirt.

He smiled and let his weight carry him forward until their lips met in a soft kiss. "I'll cook for you. At my place. Bring your toothbrush," he said quietly.

****

They strolled along, feigning avid interest in the tempting window displays offering luxuries that most cannot afford and absolutely no one needs. Hope remained quiet, her arm linked firmly through her older sister's as she waited patiently for Emily to talk about anything but handbags and Chanel suits. They peered into the windows Van Cleef & Arpels, and she waited as something caught Emily's eye.

"See something you like?" Hope asked quietly as Emily stared at a tiny pin shaped like an apple and encrusted with rubies.

"Hopie, I think my marriage is over," Emily spoke softly, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Hope couldn't have been more shocked if Emily had dropped an atom bomb on her. "Oh, nonsense, Em, I've never known two people more well-suited for one another than you and Richard."

Emily shook her head slowly, her eyes still fixed on the apple. "No, not anymore."

"You've hit a difficult patch, you've had them before, you'll find your way back," Hope replied, ever the optimist.

Emily turned to Hope and said, "He doesn't see me anymore."

Hope smiled reassuringly and said, "Of course he does, Em, he adores you, he always has."

Emily stiffened and began to move away from the window, leaving her sister in her wake. "You don't understand."

"Yes I do," Hope protested as she hurried after her.

"How could you possibly understand? You were married for six months!"

"I was married for seventeen months, one week and two days," Hope corrected her. "And I've loved a man I couldn't have for thirty more years." When she saw a slight hesitation in Emily's step, Hope swooped in. "Thirty years, Emily. Thirty years of missing him, wanting him, and needing him. You have had those thirty years and now you're telling me that you're giving up? That he doesn't 'see you' anymore? Make him see you, dammit!" she demanded as she grasped Emily's arms and forced her to face her. "Stand on your head, run naked through the streets, do whatever it takes, Emily," she hissed vehemently.

"Hope, you're hurting me," Emily said as she glanced down at her sister's hands.

"You have the life you always dreamed of, even when we were little. A life of order, a lovely life. A home to run, a child, a grandchild," Hope said softly as she loosened her grip.

"And I've done such a wonderful job at that," Emily said derisively.

"You have! You have! Look at that wonderful girl, Em! Did you want Lorelai to have a child so young? No, of course not, but look at what an amazing job she has done. You did that. You made that possible!"

"I believe that Lorelai would beg to differ," Emily said stiffly.

Hope laughed and shook her head. "Of course she would. I would never have admitted to mother that I should have married James the day that I met him. Never in a million years." She looked around as the afternoon shoppers eddied around the island they had created on the sidewalk. "To hell with propriety, it's five o'clock somewhere. Let's find a real drink and you can tell me everything," she said as she linked her arm through Emily's once more and propelled her along the sidewalk.

**

They ended up in the bar of the Hôtel de Crillon, cradling martini glasses as they sank back on the crushed red velvet upholstery. "I've always loved this bar. It seems so decadent," Emily mused as she sipped her drink.

Hope's tinkling laugh filled the almost deserted space as she cast a loving gaze on her elder sister. "Ah, Emily, if only you knew what decadent truly is."

Emily rolled her eyes and said, "I don't want to know."

"I know." Hope nodded her understanding, and then ran her fingertip around the rim of her glass. "Tell me," she prompted quietly.

"Richard has been having _lunch_," she said, adding a derisive note to the word, "with Pennilyn Lott once a year, every year, for the entire time we've been married."

Hope smirked and said, "Ahh. Lynnie Lott. Is she still as dull as a box of rocks?"

"Did you hear me?" Emily demanded.

"Yes, Em, I heard you. Your husband has been having lunch with his old flame once a year for almost forty years. The bastard," she added as she saluted Emily with her drink.

"He lied to me. He deliberately kept this from me!"

"Of course he did," Hope answered, raising her eyebrows. "If I were having lunch with Lynnie Lott once a year, I never would have told you either. For some reason you find that insipid woman threatening."

"She's been seeing my husband behind my back!"

"And seducing him over cobb salad?"

"Lunch. He thinks I don't know what lunch means?" Emily fumed. "I know all about those lunches. Martini soaked flirtation followed by a quick roll in some tawdry motel room," she hissed.

Hope's eyes widened as she sat up and leaned forward. "You have evidence that he's been having an affair?" she asked, truly shocked.

"Evidence? What evidence do I need?"

"Well, the usual. Motel receipts, lipstick on his collar, perfume on his clothing, I don't know. Whatever evidence that comes along with the martinis, salads and tawdry motel rooms," Hope said with an easy shrug.

"Do not dismiss me," Emily snapped. "Do not speak to me as if I am crazy. I'm not crazy!"

"I wasn't dismissing you, Emily," Hope replied calmly. "I simply was asking what evidence of infidelity you have unearthed. Although, I must say, once a year… Richard's sex drive is not what I had hoped it would be for your sake," she commented as she took a sip of her martini, staring at her sister pointedly over the rim of her glass.

"Why has he lied to me? Why did he hide it from me?"

"Perhaps because he knew that the woman makes his normally rational wife completely irrational. She always has, Emily, and I could never understand why."

"Why? He almost married her!"

"But he married you. He chose you, and dumped her flat after the invitations had already been sent out. As a matter of fact, I'm surprised that she would even want to have lunch with him. That just proves how spineless she truly is," she said with a smirk.

"Or that she wants revenge."

"So, for thirty some odd years she has been systematically wearing Richard down with lunches in order to lure him into her bed so that she can get back at you? I wonder how long it takes; Richard always has been very methodical."

"Stop making fun of me," Emily said snippily.

"Oh, Emily I don't mean to poke fun, but really, I don't think that you have anything to be worried about. Sometimes lunch is simply lunch."

"He has changed so much over this past year. The business, the partnership, entertaining clients without my help," Emily said as she stared sulkily into her drink.

"Ah, now we're getting somewhere," Hope murmured.

"So self-absorbed, so blind to everyone and everything."

"Meaning you and what you need," Hope said softly.

Emily blinked back tears as she focused intently on the glass in her trembling hand. "He missed Sweetie's funeral to play golf with a client," she whispered.

Hope reached across the table and gently removed the glass from Emily's hand. She placed it on the low table between them and then took that trembling hand in both of hers. "And that was wrong. He should have been there for you."

"He wasn't. And then, when his mother died…" Emily said as she shook her head and then looked away.

"You did everything for him," Hope finished. "And that ungrateful old harpy hurt you again," she said, recalling the tear soaked phone call she had received the night Emily had found the letter.

"My whole life," Emily whispered. "For over half of my life, my life has been his life. And for what? To be lied to? Humiliated? Abandoned?"

"I know."

"What about me?" Emily asked as she finally raised her pain filled brown eyes to find the same sad eyes staring back at her. "When do I get to have my life? What if I've waited too long?" she whispered.

"I have no answers for you, Em, I wish I did, but I don't," Hope said at last. "But, I'm glad that you're here." She squeezed Emily's hand and smiled reassuringly. "See what an incredibly selfish creature I am too? I'm afraid that you're surrounded by us," she teased gently.

"I needed you so badly."

"I'm here." Hope gave her sister's hand one more squeeze and then picked up her martini glass as she sat back in her chair. "Finish your drink and we'll go collect that beautiful granddaughter of yours. We'll dress up to the nines and go out for the most sinful meal that we can find. Living well, it's the best revenge," she said as she raised her glass in a toast.

Emily lifted her own glass and added, "And shopping."

"Of course, that goes without saying. Tonight we will dine extravagantly, and then tomorrow we will procure a sufficient amount of useless baubles to assuage three broken hearts," Hope murmured.

Emily sipped her martini and then frowned as she lowered her glass. "Three?"

Hope smiled kindly and said, "Emily, gorgeous nineteen year old girls don't accompany their grandmothers to Europe unless they are running away from something."

"Rory?" Emily asked in a bewildered tone.

"Yes, Rory. A broken heart? A disappointment? A disagreement?" she mused. "We'll have to winnow it out of her."

Emily gaped at her sister for a moment as Hope's words sank in, and then her face clouded even more as she dropped her eyes to her glass. "She'll never tell me. She's Lorelai's daughter. She won't confide in me," she said in a defeated tone.

"Well, then, I'll just have to get her alone, won't I," Hope said with a decisive nod as she motioned for Emily to drink up.

****

_She changed the sheets. The damn maid changed the damn sheets_, Richard fumed as he tossed the useless pillow from the bed. _I'll fire her tomorrow. Right after I find out where my grey suit is. And my wife. _He sighed as he blinked up at the ceiling, knowing that sleep would not come that night.

****

Rory closed her eyes, resisting the morning light that edged around the curtains. Another day in Paris; another day far, far away from everyone and everything. She rolled over, blinking at the beside clock as she automatically calculated the time difference to Stars Hollow. She flopped back onto her back and stared up at the ornately carved ceiling, trying to clear her mind. Today, they would shop. She frowned as she recalled her grandmother's disturbingly frenzied tear through the mall a few months before. But today, she was glad. Museums were too quiet; they left her too much time to think, and she didn't want to think anymore. It hurt to think. She mentally re-added the hours she had subtracted to get to Eastern Standard Time. _Yes, shopping is just what I need_. _Shopping as a contact sport. Who could possibly think when the stores were taking such a hit?_

****

Lorelai stared at the faint light that filtered through the gauzy curtains. She ran her fingers over the hand he pressed to her stomach as she leaned back into him, reveling in the solid comfort of his body curled around hers. His thumb moved slowly over the cotton tank she wore, letting her know that he was still awake. She sighed softly as he snuggled in closer, burying his nose in her hair.

"Have you heard from them?" he asked, his voice low and raspy in the darkened room.

"Only a message from my mother telling me that they arrived in Paris safely," she whispered.

"She'll call," he said with more confidence than she could even imagine having.

"Maybe."

"She will."

Lorelai exhaled and leaned back on him a little more. "I like having you here," she said softly.

"I like being here," he answered, and then kissed her hair softly.


	5. Letting them Fall Where They May

**Letting them Fall Where They May**

"Emily, where the devil is my grey suit?" Richard demanded the moment she answered the telephone in the suite she shared with Rory.

"Richard?" Emily whispered, lowering the earring she was about to affix to her ear.

"I have had my assistant call every dry cleaner in town," he said angrily.

"I changed cleaners," she murmured.

"Well?" he prompted imperiously.

"How did you find me?"

"Well, after I had her call every dry cleaner, I had her contact every five star hotel in Paris," he said in a condescending one. "I can't believe you didn't stay at the Crillon. You always stay at the Crillon!"

"I wanted to stay someplace different," Emily said stiffly. _I wanted to stay someplace that wasn't haunted by memories of trips to Paris with you_, she thought as she slowly lowered herself to perch on the edge of the sofa.

"Well, the next time you decide to run away to Paris in a snit, I would appreciate it if you would leave me a detailed itinerary."

Emily bristled. "I wasn't aware that you cared where I went, Richard."

"Well, it was certainly easier to find you than it is to locate my grey suit!" he huffed.

"Which grey suit? You have a dozen of them!" Emily snapped.

"The charcoal Baroni."

"It's at the cleaner's," she murmured as she rubbed her forehead tiredly.

"I am aware of that, Emily. Would you be so kind as to tell me which establishment we are patronizing now?" Richard asked snidely.

Emily's eyes widened as her head popped up. "All of the tickets are in the hutch in the kitchen. The maid should know where. Now, if you are through patronizing me, I have a dinner date. Goodbye, Richard," she added in a sickeningly sweet tone, and then replaced the receiver.

She smoothed her hands over her skirt and then stood up as Rory stepped timidly from her bedroom. Emily plastered a bright brittle smile to her face and said, "Well, you look lovely. That dress really brings out your eyes."

"Thank you," Rory said quietly. "Was that Grandpa?"

"Yes. It seems he has lost his dry cleaning ticket," Emily said as she clipped the earring she had clutched in her palm to her ear. She picked up her handbag and said, "Since it's just the two of us tonight, I thought we'd go for a little treat," as she ushered Rory to the door.

"A treat?" Rory asked cautiously.

Emily smiled and nodded excitedly. "Did you know that they have the McDonald's restaurants in Europe now? I thought we'd be the ugly Americans tonight, and have a Big Whopper. Would you like that?"

Rory stepped into the corridor and turned to stare at her grandmother. "You want to go to McDonald's for dinner?" she asked with a puzzled frown.

"I thought that it would be fun. After all, we're free to do whatever we want to do," Emily said as she pulled the door to their suite closed behind them. The phone rang just as the latch caught, and she hesitated for a moment, her hand hovering over the handle.

"Do you want to answer that?" Rory asked.

Emily quickly shook her head and then linked her arm through Rory's, propelling her granddaughter along the thickly carpeted hall. "Whoever it is will just have to call back, won't they?"

****

Rory sat back on the molded plastic bench and watched as her grandmother cut her Big Mac into tiny bite-sized pieces with plastic cutlery, and was immediately reminded of the day she and Lorelai had run into Emily at the mall. "The special sauce is really just Thousand Island dressing," she offered by way of conversation.

Emily swallowed and then took a dainty sip of her Orangina. "It gives it a little zip, doesn't it?" she said as she poked suspiciously at her side salad with her plastic fork.

"Would you like a french fry?" Rory asked as she nudged the cardboard container a little closer to Emily.

"Thank you," Emily said as she abandoned the salad and selected a single french fry with her thumb and forefinger. "So, we haven't really talked very much about school. What did you think of your first year at Yale?" she asked as she watched Rory drag a french fry through a tiny pool of _frites_ sauce.

"Oh, I loved it," Rory said quickly, and then popped the fry into her mouth.

Emily took a tiny bite of her potato and then tried to think of another approach. "Say, you never told me, did you join Graham Sullivan and the other orphans for a night out?" she asked.

Rory stopped chewing and forced the french fry down her suddenly dry throat. "Oh, yeah. Yeah, I did," she said as she reached for her drink.

"And? What did you think of him? He's a very handsome boy, isn't he?" Emily prodded with an encouraging nod.

"Oh. Oh, yes," Rory said quickly. "I went out for a bit with him and his friends, they were very nice," she lied.

"And? Are you going to see him again?"

Rory's eyes widened as she sat back and stared at her 'Royale with Cheese' as she shook her head. "No. No, I don't think so."

"No?" Emily asked, clearly disappointed.

"He was nice, but we didn't have very much in common," Rory said diplomatically. "He did buy me dinner, though," she added with a small smile as she recalled the tab she and Dean had loaded with as much bar food as they could eat.

"Oh, well, at least you had a nice evening out," Emily said as she turned her attention back to her Big Mac.

Rory smirked as she picked up her French Quarter Pounder and tried to imagine the look of horror that would have frozen on her grandmother's face if she had witnessed the pub crawl Mr. CleanCutIvyLeagueBoy had taken her on. They ate in silence for a moment and then Rory asked, "Do you think Grandpa is lonely?"

Emily forced her lips into a slight smile to soften her words as she said, "Only for his charcoal grey Baroni."

"Aw, now, Grandma," Rory cajoled.

"Your mother's inn is very nice. Well, what I saw of it," Emily said, abruptly cutting her granddaughter off. "They officially open on Friday?"

"Uh, yeah," Rory said, her gaze plummeting to her lap. "They wanted to take a little time after the test run to work out the kinks."

"A very wise decision," Emily said with an approving nod. "I'm sure it will be a great success. Lorelai always seems to land on her feet. She's like a cat, your mother."

Rory's brow puckered as she tried to decide if Emily's commentary was a compliment or a complaint. "I'm sure it will be. She and Sookie and Michel have worked really hard," she said cautiously.

Emily looked up from her meal and said, "Yes, well, we should call her tomorrow to wish her luck. I'm sure that Friday will be very hectic for her."

"Oh. Okay," Rory murmured as her eyes darted around the restaurant, looking for someplace to land other than on her grandmother, afraid that they would give away the fact that she was afraid to call her own mother.

"And then Friday will be our last day in Paris. It always makes me sad to leave Paris," Emily said with a sigh as she began rearranging her salad with her plastic fork again. "Hope said that she wanted to steal you from me for a few hours. She wants you all to herself. She always was a very greedy girl," she added with an affectionate smile.

"Oh, I'd love to spend some more time with her," Rory said, brightening for the first time the entire evening.

Emily bit down on her tongue, trying desperately to hold it as she pushed through the sharp stab of pang of envy that clenched her stomach. She tossed the fork into the lid of her salad container and said, "This is disgusting. How can anyone eat this?" Rory smiled as she gathered the last of her french fries from the box and quickly shoved them into her mouth. "Oh, Rory," Emily sighed.

Rory giggled as she chewed quickly and then forced the fries down her throat. She took a quick sip of her Coke and then grinned as she said, "You sound just like Luke when you say that."

Emily rolled her eyes and said, "Well, at least the man is more sensible than he looks."

Rory nodded gravely. "Oh, Luke is very sensible, except when he's not," Rory added with an impish grin as she picked up her burger again.

"What in heavens name does that mean?"

"Let me finish this, we'll go find some real food for you, and I will tell you about the time that Luke Danes actually left his diner long enough to go on a cruise, and came back married, much to everyone's surprise. Even his own," Rory added with an enigmatic smile.

****

Lorelai placed her fork on the edge of her plate and then propped her chin in his hand. "This is a seduction, isn't it? You're seducing me with pot roast."

Luke smiled as he nodded to her plate and asked, "More?"

"I'm good for now," she answered as she sat back in her chair. Luke picked up both of their plates and rose from the table. "Candlelight, tender, juicy pot roast, and that shirt looks great on you," she observed in a matter of fact tone.

"Thank you."

"Are you trying to seduce me?"

"Is it working?"

"If I had licked the plate, would that have been enough of a clue for you?" she asked as she stood to help him clear the table.

"I've got this, or, I'll get them later," he told her as he set their plates in the sink.

"You didn't have to do this. Cook me a candlelight dinner to seduce me. You know I can be had for a take out order of moo shu."

Luke shot her a look and then said, "You don't use pot roast to seduce someone. Pot roast is comfort food."

"We're you comforting me?"

He turned to her and said simply, "I want you to be comfortable here."

Lorelai smiled as she reached up and smoothed his hair back over his ear. "I am comfortable here," she said softly.

"Good. I made chocolate death pie for dessert. That was what I planned to seduce you with," he admitted gruffly as he leaned into her caress.

"Death by Chocolate pie?" she asked with a coy smile.

"Whatever. It looks disgusting, so you should love it."

"I'm sure I will," Lorelai said as she lowered her hand and turned to the sink. She fitted the stopper into the drain and began running the faucet, squeezing a generous amount of liquid soap under the stream.

"I can do those later."

"No big deal," she answered as she reached for the sponge. "You cooked after cooking all day."

Luke pulled a clean towel from a drawer and unfolded it as he said, "Sometimes I just cook just to unwind." He paused for a moment as she plunged the dish sponge into the sudsy water. "Just like you do dishes when you're keyed up."

Lorelai's head jerked up and she gaped at him. "How do you know that?"

He thought for a moment and then shrugged. "Just one of those things I know about you. I don't know how I know it." He watched as she scrubbed a plate clean and then rinsed it thoroughly. He took it from her gently and then began to dry it. "Are you nervous about being here?"

"A little," she admitted without looking up.

"I don't want you to be. I don't have any, um, expectations for the evening, Lorelai."

"No?" she asked as she cast a sidelong glance at him.

"No. I have hopes, but no expectations," he said with a wry smile as he set the dry plate aside and took the next one from her.

"You bought a bigger bed," she said quietly.

"Yeah, I did."

"It wasn't here before."

"No."

"You were married and you still had a single bed."

"And now I have a double," he concluded as he set that plate aside. Lorelai froze when instead of taking the cutlery she had just rinsed from her hand, he covered hers with his. "That doesn't mean that we have to, uh, you know."

Lorelai laughed silently and then looked from their hands to his eyes. "You seem to be laboring under the assumption that I don't want to."

Luke shook his head slightly and said, "No, I just want to be clear."

"Sex is purely optional," she murmured.

"Completely." When she nodded and turned back to the sink, he slipped the clean cutlery from her hand and began to dry each piece.

"I want to," she said as she began to wash the roasting pan he had used to cook their dinner.

"Let that soak," Luke said as he reached for her hands and lifted them to the towel clutched in his other hand. "I'll get you some coffee and you can have some pie."

"I'm good with the wine," she said as she nodded to her half full glass on the table. "I know I'm being stupid," she said softly as he held the towel around her hands.

"About what?"

"We've spent the last three nights together," she pointed out.

"We have."

"We've known each other for years. Hell, we've already slept together," she said, her voice rising.

He rubbed his thumb against the palm of his other hand as he stepped back and took an unsteady breath before he said quietly, "Maybe we should talk about that."

"I'm not sure that we should."

"No, but I think we need to." Luke dropped down into the chair he had sat in for dinner and reached for his nearly empty bottle of beer. "Uh, the other night…" he said gruffly.

Lorelai tipped her head back to the ceiling and blew out a frustrated breath. "Was a weird night," she finished for him.

"I guess, I don't know, I guess I just feel a little, uh, weird about it now," he confessed.

"About sex?" she asked bluntly as she sat down across from him.

Luke winced and said, "I don't know."

"Luke, the other night, well, I wasn't thinking really clearly," Lorelai admitted.

"No," he said softly.

"And, I want you to know that I, um, wanted to, wanted you," she said as she wrung her hands, watching his expression carefully. "I just, there was so much going on in my head."

"Yeah." Luke turned his head and shot her a sidelong glance. "I just… Did I push you?" he asked with a worried frown.

"No, not at all," she answered promptly.

"I didn't think so, but, you know, it's all mixed up in my head, and I thought that maybe you felt like maybe I expected…"

"I wanted you to stay," Lorelai said softly.

"I would have anyway."

"I know that."

"Do you?" he asked as he turned to look her in the eye.

"I do now," she said with a small shrug. "This is new."

Luke chuckled at her ability to state the obvious and said, "Yeah, really new."

"No, I mean, this kind of thing. The talking and the sleeping," she said as she smoothed her hand over the worn wooden table. She smiled shyly as she tucked her fidgeting hands into her lap and looked up at him. "You're the only guy I've ever slept with in my bed."

"Oh."

"I don't mean that kind of slept with, well that too, but just slept-slept," she tried to explain. "Not even Max."

"Really? Uh, wow," Luke said with a puzzled frown.

Lorelai nodded quickly as the color rose in her cheeks. "I know, weird for someone my age, huh?"

"Well, no, you had Rory."

"Yeah, I had Rory," Lorelai said as she looked down at her hands clasped in her lap. "You know, sex is a… a strange topic for me."

Luke laughed softly as he said, "Well, I haven't actually talked to anyone about it since I was about twelve."

Lorelai smiled, picturing a pre-teen Luke sitting mortified as his father explained the birds and the bees to him. "But I've been thinking about it all week. What happened the other night, what happened with Rory… Not the way that I usually have sex on the brain," she joked weakly.

Lorelai twisted her fingers together as she went on in a rush. "Of course, sex was a totally taboo subject in my parents' house. Looking back on it now, I guess I can assume that they never thought they would have to deal with that as soon as they did, and when they did, it was already too late," she said with a wry smile. "I tried so hard to be open about it with Rory, to let her know that she could always talk to me about it, that she could always come to me." Lorelai looked down as Luke reached over and covered her fidgeting hands with one of his. His long fingers closed around her hands, squeezing them gently, offering her his quiet support and reassurance. "I tried to be good about it, but when it's your kid, it's your kid, and no matter how cool you think you are, it's really hard to be cool about that."

"I bet."

"It seems like every night I'd lie in bed wondering and worrying that she'd make the same choices I made. I mean, I joked and teased and tried to be _so_ cool about things, but I wasn't, not really." She took a deep breath and then blew it out as she looked up at the ceiling. "How can I be cool about her having sex when I'm not even sure I'm cool with it myself?"

"What?"

"Not the sex; everything else that comes with the sex," she said quickly.

"I'm not sure I'm following you," Luke said cautiously.

"The one time a guy actually stayed in my bedroom was just before Max and I were supposed to get married, and I couldn't do it. Sleep, I mean, just sleep with a guy in my bed. I was supposed to marry the guy, but I ended up sleeping in Rory's bed with her that night." When his eyebrows shot up, Lorelai smiled. "If I were you, I'd turn tail and run now, mister," she joked as she dropped her eyes to their clasped hands. When he didn't move a muscle, she breathed a soft sigh of relief.

"I give a hell of a lecture on the importance of being safe, I pounded it into her head for years, but I have condoms hidden in my nightstand because I don't want to carry the whole box around in my purse and I don't want to just leave them in the bathroom advertising my sex life to my kid," she said with a rueful laugh. "She learned to add and subtract at a really young age, you know."

"Yeah."

She looked over at Luke and asked with a wry smile, "Aren't you sorry you said that you wanted to talk about sex now?"

"We can talk about it," he said gruffly.

"Yeah, we can." Lorelai took a deep breath as she looked down at his large hand covering hers. "Maybe I'm the one who's all mixed up about it. I mean, seriously, when you have a kid at sixteen, that's bound to have an effect on how you view sex, right?"

"Uh, I wouldn't know."

Lorelai smiled and said, "No, you wouldn't, and it would probably take an entire team of psychologists to sort through the mess in my head." She extricated one of her hands to reach up and tug on a hunk of her carefully curled hair. "I was fifteen when I got pregnant, Luke. Fifteen. Do you even remember being fifteen? Other than realizing that I was having a baby, I don't remember anything about being that age."

"No, I can't say that I do remember it."

"I do remember that moment, though. I remember the moment I decided to let Chris go all the way." She laughed softly and said, "Let him. I was the one who pushed it," she said as she looked at him frankly. "I was the one who thought I was ready. Boy, was I wrong." Her fingers fidgeted beneath his, straining against the restriction, but at the same time, comforted by its warmth. "How old were you?" she asked quietly.

"Seventeen. Almost eighteen."

"Ah, a late bloomer," she said with a small smile. "Rachel?"

Luke shook his head and said, "No, another girl."

"Another girl? I thought you and Rachel…"

Luke shrugged slightly and then colored as he admitted, "She wasn't ready and I was a seventeen year old jerk, so I broke up with her and found someone who, uh, was."

"Whoa. You dog," Lorelai breathed.

"I was," he said as he hung his head slightly. "If it makes you feel any better, I can tell you that it wasn't worth it."

"No?"

"God, no," Luke said with a laugh. "And, I paid and paid for that for years."

"I bet you did."

"And then, every time she would leave and come back, I wondered if maybe I deserved it..."

"I'm not sure I would go that far," Lorelai said with a frown. "I mean, how long do you have to pay for something that you did when you were young and stupid?"

The silence stretched heavy and thick between them.

"Having Rory changed your whole life," Luke pointed out.

"Yeah, but I can't imagine it any other way. I just hate that someday, even if she doesn't now, she's going regret her first time."

"Yeah," he agreed quietly.

"But, look at us. Neither of us is particularly proud of it, right? Maybe most people end up regretting jumping into sex too young to know what's really involved."

"Do you?"

"Yes and no," she admitted in a whisper. "No, because I got Rory, and you know I'll never regret that."

"No."

"But, I can't help but wonder if maybe it made sex too easy," she mused.

"Easy? You had a kid before you could drive and you think that made having sex easy?" he asked.

Lorelai chuckled and said, "I could drive. I had private driving lessons so that the kids in Driver's Ed didn't have to ride with the pregnant girl."

She rubbed her thumbnail against his palm as she tried to figure out a way to explain what she was thinking. "I like sex, Luke," she said as she looked him straight in the eye. Luke laughed and shook his head as a pink flush warmed his cheeks. "I do," she said softly. "But, I don't mean easy that way. I mean easy in that sex was sex, and it was always kind of separate from everything else. When you have a kid at sixteen, you get a little paranoid about the, uh, ramifications, and no that was not a dirty," she said as her own lips quirked. "I've always been careful, so careful. Backup for the backup, I kept it away from Rory, away from my life here."

"That's understandable."

"But because there were these boundaries, that made it easier to have other boundaries," Lorelai told him. "It made it easier not to let someone in. Into my house, into my bed, into my life," she said as she raised her eyes to meet his.

"I see."

She watched as Luke slowly drew his hand away and reached for his beer. "You ready to bolt?" she asked softly.

Luke froze for a second and then shook his head slowly. "No."

"Good because with you I broke every rule, Luke. You were already in my life, and Rory's, for that matter. You've been in my house for years, and now you've spent the last three nights in my bed. I broke every one of those rules. Well, except the one about the backup for the backup, I hung onto that one," Lorelai conceded. "I'm on the pill," she told him flatly.

"Okay," he said drawing the word out as he ran his thumbnail along the wood grain of the table.

"I just, it felt, uh, safer to have the other backup."

"It probably was, you know, with how things ended up with me and Nicole," he said gruffly.

"Well, I didn't really think about that. I meant safer in terms of you."

"Me?"

"I'm scared," she admitted in a whisper.

"Of me?"

"Of us," she said as she met his gaze.

Luke's smile was warm and genuine as he leaned forward, reaching for her hands again. He held them loosely in his, glancing down at her fingers curled in his palms. "I am too," he confessed softly.

"You are? You seem so sure," she murmured.

Luke snorted and shook his head. "I'm not sure about anything, Lorelai, other than the fact that I want to be with you."

"Why?" Lorelai asked in a bewildered tone.

"I have no idea," he said with a helpless shrug. Luke pulled his hands from hers and reached for his back pocket. He pulled out his wallet and removed a tiny piece of newsprint. "The first day you came into my diner, you gave me this," he said as he handed it to her.

"I did?" Lorelai unfolded the scrap of paper and her smile blossomed as she saw her own handwriting looping across the horoscope for Scorpio. "I did. You kept this," she breathed.

"You told me to put it in my wallet and one day it would bring me luck."

"Well, man, I will say anything for a cup of coffee," she tried to joke, hoping to drown out the pounding of her heart. She stared at the scrap of worn newsprint, afraid of seeing too much if she dared to look at him. "Um...I can't believe you kept this. You kept this in your wallet?" she asked, unable to resist any longer, Lorelai gazed into those bottomless blue eyes and saw everything she would ever need to know right there. "You kept this in your wallet."

"Eight years," Luke confirmed.

"Eight years," she repeated in a breathy voice.

"Lorelai, I don't know what I'm doing. I know I'm not very good at this, but you're actually the only woman I have ever been able to talk to like this, and I want to try. I have to try my hardest," he said his deep voice cracking a bit. "Trust me, I have never had a conversation like the one we just had with any woman," he said with a self-conscious chuckle.

Lorelai blinked as she looked up at him. "So, good talk?" she asked with a sly smile.

Luke smiled a little in return as he took the horoscope from her fingers and placed it carefully back in his wallet. "I don't know, was it?"

"You didn't say much, shockingly enough."

Luke shoved his wallet back into his pocket and sat back in his chair, drumming his fingers on the table top as he tried to school his thoughts. "I want you. In every way that you can want someone," he clarified. "You know that I care about you, right? I mean, more than that," he said with careful deliberation.

"I know," Lorelai said, confirming the one thing that she was absolutely certain about.

"I married Nicole because I thought that I could never, uh, be with you," he said in a low gravelly voice.

"You did?"

"Well, actually, that was why a dated her. I really had no intention of marrying her," he corrected himself quickly.

A short laugh escaped her lips and Lorelai's eyes sparkled as she teased, "I'm not sure if that's better or worse."

Luke shrugged and said, "Either way, it's the truth."

"But you said that you would have stayed in it."

"I don't know," he said as he closed his fingers over the neck of his bottle of beer and twirled it in small circles on the table top. "Don't you ever, didn't you ever just get tired of being alone?" he asked.

"Sure."

"Me too."

"I thought you liked being alone," Lorelai said with a frown.

"No one wants to be alone, Lorelai," he said impatiently as he stood up and walked to the fridge to get another beer. "More wine?" he asked as he sat back down, twisting the cap from the bottle.

"I'm okay," she answered as she stared at the dark red liquid in her forgotten glass.

"I want what most people want," he said as he rubbed his thumb over the bottle cap. "I just made the mistake of thinking you could make that happen with most anyone, as long as you liked them enough." He tossed the cap onto the table and leaned forward, rubbing his palms together nervously. "We hadn't, uh, well, in over a month. She swears up and down that the guy with the socks was after, but I don't know for sure…"

"I'm sorry that she hurt you."

Luke smiled sadly as he lifted his bottle and toasted her with it. He took a sip and then said, "The problem is, she didn't hurt me bad enough."

"Bad enough?" Lorelai asked, jerking her head up to look at him. "What did you do to deserve being hurt worse than that?"

Luke shook his head and said, "No, not that. I just meant that I didn't care enough to let it hurt me like it should have."

"Are you some kind of masochist?" Lorelai asked with a snort of disbelief.

Luke chuckled and said, "No," as he shook his head slowly. "Well, I don't know, I may be," he amended. "There's only one person who could hurt me like that," he said quietly as he looked straight into her eyes.

Lorelai's breath caught in her chest. "Please say you don't mean me," she whispered.

"Now you know why I'm scared too," Luke told her. "Just be honest with me, Lorelai, that's all I'm asking. Don't pretend, don't hide, and don't act like nothing's wrong if something is. I'm not quick enough to pick up on the clues," he said gruffly.

"I didn't mean to hurt your feelings," she said quickly.

"I know that you didn't. I'll get over it," he assured her.

Unable to stand the distance between them for one moment longer, Lorelai stood up and moved to sit on his lap. Luke smiled as he shifted in the chair, making room for her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly, smiling against his baby soft hair when she felt his arms encircle her without missing a beat. "This may be the dumbest thing you've ever done," she whispered as she brushed her lips over his hair.

"I'm on a roll, why stop now?"

Lorelai laughed as she pulled back to look down at him. She ran her fingers over his forehead, trailing them down his temple to his cheek, and smoothed the tiny lines around his eye with her thumb. "Where exactly did we end up on the sex thing?" she asked cautiously.

"I like it too," he said with a completely straight face.

"Good to know." Lorelai shifted to kiss him tenderly.

"Let's just, let's just let it happen," he whispered as he looked up at her intently. "Is that okay?"

"You didn't really tell me how you felt about the other night," she said as she combed his hair back with her fingers.

He paused, measuring his words carefully before he answered. "I felt… I didn't feel good about it," he answered honestly. "But I like that we can, you know, talk about it and not yell and stuff."

"Yeah, me too."

"I just like being with you, Lorelai. I feel better when I'm with you."

Lorelai nodded. "I feel better when I'm with you too." She ran her hand up his back and smiled as she asked, "Where do we stand on making out?"

Luke smiled. "I'm a fan," he said with a nod.

"And dessert?" she asked hopefully.

"Coming right up," he said with a nod as he patted her bottom and motioned for her to let him stand up.

Lorelai resisted. "Can we make out while I sit on your lap and have dessert?"

"Why not," Luke said with a put-upon sigh, but smiling as she scrambled from his lap.

****

Richard sat on the edge of the bed staring at the telephone. His fingers twitched. _An involuntary reaction_, he told himself sternly. _It's just a lack of sleep_, he justified as he grasped his hands tightly in his lap. _Warm milk. I'll warm some milk_, he decided as he stuffed his feet into his slippers and then shuffled from the bedroom.

Minutes later, he stood in the kitchen doorway blinking as his eyes adjusted to the harsh light. For a moment, he wished that he could flip the switch again and plunge it all back into darkness. But, he'd never been very good at feeling his way around in the dark, especially in the kitchen, a room he usually only visited long enough to refill the ice bucket. He turned his head and winced as he saw the papers, pads and pens strewn across the corner hutch that Emily kept neatly ordered with lists of instructions, detailed menu plans and meticulous shopping lists, evidence of his earlier tantrum.

When he walked through the door earlier that evening, he walked directly to the kitchen, where he found the maid who had dared to change his bedding pulling what appeared to be a charred pork loin from the oven. He crossed the room, removing the white envelope from his inside breast pocket without breaking stride and presented it to the startled woman. "Thank you for all that you have done. I won't require your services any longer," he said with a brief nod, and then turned and walked from the room. On his way to the study, he snagged a glass and the crystal decanter of scotch from the drink cart, and pushed his way into his inner sanctum clutching his new best friend.

He stood behind his desk and punched the international number that he now had memorized into the phone on his desk, and turned up the speaker as he splashed scotch into a tumbler as the odd ring tone filled the room. When the hotel operator came on the line, he boomed, "Mrs. Richard Gilmore's room, please." His lips stretched into a long thin line as he listened to the extension ring and ring without answer. Again. When the automated voice mail greeting began, he quickly disconnected the call by picking up the receiver and slamming it back down to show his displeasure.

_I refuse to leave one more message,_ he thought petulantly as he tossed back the scotch in this glass. With the empty glass still clutched in his hand he stormed from the room. When he appeared in the kitchen again, the stunned maid still stood in front of the stove clutching the generous severance check he hadn't bothered putting a name on, since he could not recall ever hearing this one's name. He stopped in the doorway and then said in a low, dangerous voice, "Go. Go now."

The maid snapped to attention and hurried toward the back door, gathering her handbag from the shelf near the door, before disappearing into the night. The second the door closed, Richard headed for the hutch where Emily kept the household details in almost fanatical order. He set his glass down and began pulling papers from the various nooks and crannies, rifling through the small drawers, and upending notebooks, cookbooks and binders in his quest to unearth the missing dry cleaning ticket. Reckless in his frustration, he tore through page after page of sample menus, almost ripping them from their binder as he muttered, "Where could it be? Where could it be?" under his breath.

When the last untouched cubby was emptied of its contents, and his questions still were not emptied, he picked up the Baccarat tumbler and hurled it against the wall, watching as the heavy crystal shattered into a thousand tiny shards, each lighter than a feather. They crunched under his feet as he strode from the room, carefully turning out the light as he left.

And now, he stood in his slippers surveying the wreckage left behind. "Where could she be?" he murmured. "Where is my Emily?"

He shuffled carefully toward the hutch, mindful of the shattered crystal and the thin leather soles of his slippers. Without thinking, he began to straighten the mess that he had made, carefully replacing the binders of menus and recipes on the shelves, carefully tucking appliance manuals back into the drawers. He picked up a small pad with a list of errands written by Emily's flawless hand. 'Take suits to cleaners, refill R's Rx, send flowers to Regina and George,' he whispered aloud. Richard blinked as he looked up, trying to recall is he had taken his blood pressure medication that morning, but coming up blank. He thought back to the previous morning, and realized that the pills had not been neatly laid out beside his grapefruit and coffee. He looked around blankly, wondering where Emily kept the bottles of pills, and wondering how he would survive until she came home.

_She won't call me back,_ he thought sadly. _She won't call me back because she doesn't care if I have my grey suit, or if my blood pressure goes through the roof. She just wants to run wild,_ he thought as he slowly lowered the pad to the hutch. _She's running wild in Paris, probably with her wild sister, probably drinking two glasses of wine at lunch, or maybe even three._

He felt his heart hammering in his chest as he closed his eyes and saw them as they were when he first fell for her. They were both so beautiful. Snow White and Rose Red, he had called them teasingly. Emily was so demure, so genteel. And Hope, Hopie was as vibrant and mysterious to him as a gypsy. They were as different as two sisters could possibly be, but when you saw them together; the shining auburn hair glinting in the sun, the delighted smiles that lit their warm brown eyes, there could be no doubt that in some ways they were almost like two halves of a whole. _And oh, I want Emily to smile at me like that again, _he thought as he saw himself striding tall and proud across the sloping green lawn of their parents' house to join them for an impromptu picnic under the shade of the giant Elm. _I want her to look at me like that again._ Richard sighed, slumping against the wall, completely exhausted.

"I need her to look at me like that," he said softly as he pushed from the wall and began to shuffle from the room. He paused in the doorway, his eyes locked on the phone mounted on the kitchen wall. He picked up the receiver and dialed the number that was now imprinted on his brain. "Mrs. Richard Gilmore's room, please," he said quietly when the operator answered. When the call bounced back a moment later, she informed him that Mrs. Gilmore had placed the telephones on 'Do Not Disturb' the previous evening. Richard thanked her and then gently placed the receiver on its cradle. He turned out the kitchen lights as he left the room and wandered off to bed wishing he had said something more on the half dozen messages he had left that afternoon and evening; wishing he hadn't kept rambling on about a suit he didn't even like anyway.

****

"I like it here, it's kind of cozy," Lorelai said as she lifted the covers and slid into his new bed.

"You think?"

"Yes. Of course, this isn't as cozy as that single bed would have been," she teased, her smile fading as thoughts of the other women that had cozied up in the cozy tiny bed flashed through her head. "What made you decide to upgrade?"

Luke turned out the bathroom light as he walked back into the room and shrugged as he said, "Seemed like it was time."

"When did you get it?"

"Yesterday," he told her as he climbed in on what was now his side.

"You have a new bed that you haven't even slept in yet," she said as she snuggled into the pillow, blinking up at him as he got settled.

Luke exhaled slowly as his head sunk into the pillow and then he turned to look at her. "Someone told me once that there wasn't room for anyone else in a single bed."

"Please don't tell me how many times you proved that wrong," she said softly.

Luke's smile was a tad sheepish, but the corners of his eyes still crinkled devilishly as he replied, "Okay, I won't."

The laugh escaped her lips before she could stop it. "You're, wow, you're so different than I thought you would be," she said as she shook her head in wonder.

"How's that?" he asked as he rolled onto his side to look at her.

"I don't know. I guess I just had this image of you in my head. You're Luke, mister mindyourownbusiness, playbytherules, dowhatsright, guy," she said with a wave of her hand.

"And you're saying that isn't true?"

Lorelai narrowed her eyes at him and said, "I bet that you know more about what goes on around here than Babette and Patty combined. You might bend the rules a little more than I thought you would, but you still try to do what's right. All in all, I guess you just aren't as perfect as I always thought you were," she teased.

Luke chuckled as he slid one arm up under his pillow and reached to pull her closer with the other. "You know, when I was growing up my dad used to always tell me, 'It's easier to do right than to make right.' I, of course, thought he was full of crap," he said with a smirk.

"Of course."

"But it's true. I still don't do what's right all the time, but when I screw up, I try hard to make it right."

"And that's what counts," Lorelai said as she snuggled in closer. "The chocolate didn't kill me," she whispered as she pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

"Should have," he whispered back. "You have an inhuman tolerance," he said as he kissed her again, tasting toothpaste mixed with the remnants of sweet chocolate and tangy red wine.

Luke groaned as she moved closer still, deepening the kiss as she nudged him onto his back. He drew his hand trough her hair, letting the long tangle of wavy curls slip through his fingers as he drank her in, swirling his tongue around hers, pulling her deeper as she moved on top of him. "Lorelai," he rasped as he broke the kiss, but couldn't stop himself from nipping gently at her jaw.

Lorelai looked down at him with heavily lidded eyes and whispered, "Let's just let it happen, Luke. Let it happen."

****

Rory awoke before dawn. She dressed quietly and then slipped from the room, clutching her keycard in her hand as she made her way down the corridor. After a quick elevator ride to the lobby, she stopped at the front desk and inquired in her textbook French about internet service. She was given a passcode and directed to a business center near the hotel ballrooms. Five minutes later, she was logged in to Yahoo and wading her way through junk mail and missives from Paris on the horrors of London.

She clicked the button to create new mail, and then let her fingers hover over the keys as the cursor blinked in the address line. She clicked on the body of the e-mail template and began to type.

_I don't know what to do. I know what I did was wrong, but I don't know how to fix it. I hurt everybody, and I'm so, so sorry. I just don't know how to fix it. Have you seen him? Have you talked to him? Has he asked where I am? Is everyone still talking about it? I can't come home. I don't know where I'll go, or what I'll do, but I can't come home. I can't face it._

Rory pressed her lips together as she clicked on the address line once more and typed the letters, 'LO'. Her finger rested lightly on the 'enter' key as her mother's name and e-mail address appeared hi-lighted in blue. _The Germans wore grey; you wore blue,_ she the line popped into her head. She could almost hear Lorelai saying, 'Of course I wore blue, I look great in blue. It makes my eyes pop.'

She moved her finger from 'enter' to 'backspace' and deleted the 'O'. She typed an 'A' and waited until Lane's name appeared before selecting it. Without hesitating, she pressed the 'send' button, and then quickly logged out. Rory picked up her key card and hurried from the business center, breaking into a trot as she fled for the safety of the elevator. She slipped quietly back into the suite and tiptoed to her bedroom, closing the door silently behind her before changing back into her pajamas and crawling under the covers to hide from what she might hear in return.

****

There was no one else in the room. Not Rory, not her mother or father, not Nicole or any of the other ghosts of lovers past. There was only Luke and Lorelai, skin to skin, mouth to mouth, and pressed heart to heart. His lips moved over her neck, his tongue teasing the tender skin in gentle circles. His hands moved over her body, absorbing the feel of her soft skin under callused hands, molding every inch of her to him.

Lorelai lie writhing in breathless anticipation as he drew her nipple into his mouth, letting his teeth gently abrade the sensitive tip before laving it with his tongue. Her hands roamed from his rumpled hair to his broad shoulders to the smooth planes of his back. She smiled, arching off of the bed as he cupped her breasts greedily, kneading the soft flesh with strong fingers, suckling her insistently as he groaned against her.

Luke moved steadily lower, covering every centimeter of her stomach with hot, open-mouthed kisses, nuzzling the dark curls at the apex of her legs with his nose, pressing her supple thighs further apart, opening her to him as he shifted down between her legs. A soft gasp caught in her throat as he gently teased her clit with the tip of his tongue, fleeting glances that rocked her body like blows. She whispered his name, and he sank into her, stroking her ardently as her hips jerked and bucked off of the bed. His hands were everywhere, caressing her stomach, stroking her thighs, curling into her hips as he pressed closer, driving her higher.

Nonsense words spoken in the barest whisper urged him on as she strained up into him, her body begging for more. Luke slid his hands to her ass, squeezing it firmly as he pressed his tongue into her, stroking her hard and fast and then letting it slide up to circle her clit lazily. His name tumbled from her lips as she pressed her heels into the bed; her thighs trembling as she desperately sought what he seemed determined to give to her. Luke pressed his tongue into her, groaning as he tasted her, hungry for more of her. He heard her breath hitch, and then a low strangle moan rumbled from deep inside of her; turning into a soft husky breath of pleasure soaked laughter. She gasped his name again, this time it was wrapped tightly in that throaty, joyous laugh of release. "Oh, God, Luke," she sighed, unable and unwilling to bite back the smug, satisfied smile that colored her words. She laughed as he pressed his lip to the inside of her thigh and whispered, "Happy now?"

"Yes," he answered truthfully as he raised his head to look at her. When he released her leg, it slid slowly to the mattress, pushing the already disheveled sheets down to the foot of his new bed. "Thanks for letting it happen," he said as he pressed a soft, teasing kiss to her stomach.

"Come up here," she said as she pulled on his arms.

Luke took his time, trailing tiny kisses over multiple points of interest as he unfolded his body, stretching out over her. When he pressed his hands into the pillow beneath her head, holding his body taut inches above hers, she shared that slow, satisfied smile with him, earning one of his own in return. Lorelai hooked one long leg over his, and yanked at his elbow, sending him on his side as she rolled over and pushed him down onto his back.

"Aren't you glad you got a bigger bed," she asked as she held herself poised above him, just as he had a moment before.

"So glad."

Lorelai slid down, watching his eyes close as she pressed her body the length of his, trapping his straining cock between them with her weight. Luke ran his hands up her smooth back, his fingertips memorizing the curve of her spine. "You feel so good," she whispered as she circled her hips against him. She felt his groan rumble in his chest before the sound actually escaped. When it did, Lorelai was there to capture it with her mouth, pulling his tongue deep into hers. Without lifting her mouth from his, she pushed her body up, drawing her knees to his hips and pinning his arms to the bed. He grunted, desperate for air to fill his straining lungs as she slid her damp folds teasingly along the length of him.

Finally, she pulled away, smiling like a Cheshire cat as he gulped precious oxygen. "Are you trying to kill me?" he asked.

"Well, the chocolate didn't do it," she answered sweetly as she ground against his pulsating flesh. "False advertising."

"We don't have to…"

"Yes, we do," she answered, cutting him off with a blistering kiss. "Oh, yes we do," she said breathlessly as she pushed up, pulling his hands down to her thighs as she rose above him.

Lorelai lifted her hips, teasing the very tip of him as she circled them closing her own eyes as she savored the sensation of his hard heat against her sensitive skin. "Nightstand," he rasped, his voice breaking with need.

Lorelai slowly opened her eyes as she guided him to her entrance. She wet her lips and looked him in the eye as she sank slowly down on him. "Let's just let it happen."


	6. Like Shards of Shrapnel

**Like Shards of Shrapnel**

It hurts, when your only child leaves and refuses to call. It hurts when your well-intentioned advice is tossed back in your face, when your every crime and misdemeanor is brought forth for closer inspection. When the only motivation you ever had for getting out of bed in the morning questions your motivations. Suddenly Lorelai Gilmore has learned what it is to be Emily Gilmore, and she has to say, she doesn't care for it one bit.

**

It almost breaks you when you realize that the balance of power in your marriage has shifted and you didn't even notice it. For nearly four decades, she had devoted her life to your life. And then suddenly, she's gone. But what neither of you realized as the trunks were loaded into the limousine was that she had packed your life along with hers, and now it's gone too.

****

"Lorelai, it's your mother!" Emily said loudly into the phone.

Lorelai tucked the cell phone under her chin as she signed and invoice. "Hi, Mom."

"We're calling from Paris!" Emily practically shouted.

Lorelai pulled the phone away from her ear and then said, "The line is crystal clear. You don't have to yell."

Emily paused and then said in a normal tone. "Sorry. I still think transcontinental calls are a bigger deal than they are."

"You're coming in fine. So, Paris?

"Yes, we're having a lovely time. We just wanted to call to wish you congratulations today because we know how busy you will be tomorrow," Emily explained.

"Oh, thank you," Lorelai said as she looked up from the papers in front of her.

"Yes, well, congratulations. We will be leaving for Vienna on Saturday and will call you when we arrive at our hotel. We'll be staying at the Imperial. Do you want to talk to Rory?" Emily said in her usual brisk manner.

Lorelai's heart began to thud dully in her chest. "Oh, um, sure. Is she there?"

"Yes, she is. Hang on," Emily said as she covered the mouthpiece. "Rory, it's your mother."

"Hello?" Rory said cautiously.

Lorelai bit her lip and turned away from the desk as her eyes suddenly filled with tears. She forced a cheerful tone as she said simply, "Hi," afraid she wouldn't be able to force more around the lump in her throat.

"Hi," Rory said shortly. "Grandma wanted to wish you good luck tomorrow."

"Oh, well, that's nice, thank you," Lorelai said stiffly. "So, Paris…"

"Yep."

"Weather good?"

"Warm in the day, cooler at night."

"Uh-huh, that's kind of what we're having here," Lorelai answered.

"Huh. Co-inky-dink," Rory muttered.

"Yeah. So..." Lorelai began, casting about for something to say.

"So..."

Losing patience with the strained and obviously forced call, Lorelai gripped the phone tighter as she said, "Great, then. Have fun. Be safe."

"I will. Bye," Rory said quickly.

"Bye," Lorelai answered, and slammed the phone shut. She piled the invoices into a stack and carried them into the office, where she grabbed her purse and slung it over her shoulder. "I'll be back in a while," she said to Michel as she brushed past him.

"Lorelai, where are you going?" Michel asked, aghast. "Lorelai! You do remember that we open tomorrow, don't you?" he called after her, to no avail.

Still clutching the invoices, Lorelai climbed into the Jeep and cranked the engine. She placed the invoices on the passenger seat and then gripped the wheel tightly as she wheeled out of the lot, heading for safety.

****

Luke had been a little shocked when he stepped out of the bathroom at four fifty-five that morning and saw Lorelai pulling her shirt over her head. He had expected her to stay warm and naked in his bed while he went about his opening routine. He had wanted her to still be there when Caesar showed up at six to take over. But Lorelai had said that since he was up, she was up, and that she needed to get home to shower and change for work. She was out the door before he even got the first pot of coffee brewed. And that was when he resigned himself to sleeping in her bed at night and walking home through the pre-dawn light to open his business.

He was wiping down the counter just after the lunch rush had cleared out when the bells peeled. He looked up automatically, somehow knowing it would be Lorelai. "Hey," he said with a nod and a small smile.

"Hi! Coffee, please?" she asked as she carried the stack of invoices to the counter and climbed onto a stool.

Luke frowned as he filled her favorite mug with her favorite brew. "Don't you have an office to do that in now?"

"What? You're not happy to see me?" she asked, a hard edge to her voice.

"I am," Luke said quickly. "I just, I figured you'd be sticking pretty close to the inn today."

"I can do this anywhere," she said as she waved her hand at the pile of paperwork.

"And you chose here?" he asked, his lips curving into a slow smile.

Lorelai looked up and met his eyes. "Yes."

He nodded slowly, unwilling to break eye contact with her. "Have you eaten?"

"I had a muffin earlier," she replied, her blue eyes locked on his.

"I'll make you some lunch," he said as he pushed away from the counter, sighing as he was forced to turn away from her.

"Hey, you don't know what I want!" Lorelai called after him as he disappeared into the kitchen.

"Yes I do," he called back.

Lorelai ducked her head, beaming a smile at an invoice for travel sized toiletries as she tucked her hair behind her ear and got down to work.

****

Emily followed the sales assistant to the counter, checking to see if Rory was still ensconced in the chair by the door with her book. She opened her wallet and drew her credit card from the slot, handing it over to the assistant pinched between two fingers as if it would scorch her. She smiled wryly as she watched another exorbitant sale ring up, almost expecting the card to be smoldering when the woman handed it back to her.

She went to slide it into its customary spot, but found that the card would not fit. Her brow furrowed as she tried again unsuccessfully. She placed her wallet and the card on the counter, and lifted the edge of the leather slot to peer into the tiny compartment. She saw a slip of paper with crumpled edges jammed into the pocket, and sighed as she wriggled a finger under the flap to pull it free. Emily crumpled the slip of paper in her palm as she slid the card easily into its well-worn place, and then closed her wallet. She dropped it into her handbag as the sales woman skirted the end of the counter to hand her the carrier bags filled with tissue wrapped clothing.

"Merci," she murmured as she took the bags from the woman and turned to roust her granddaughter from the chair by the door. She placed the bags at Rory's feet and asked, "Are we ready?"

Rory eyed the bags as she closed her book. "I guess I should ask you that," she replied with an amused smile.

Emily raised her eyebrows and gave an impudent shrug as she said, "I liked them and they fit."

"Two best reasons on earth," Rory agreed as she slipped her book into her messenger bag. "I'm starving."

Emily chuckled as she said, "You are just like your mother. Come along, we'll go relax for a bit, and then have a cozy little dinner in one of those tiny bistros you like. And then, tomorrow, we will live it up."

"Haven't we been living it up?" Rory asked as she stood up and reached for her grandmother's shopping bags.

"Oh, Rory, we haven't even begun," Emily said with a laugh as she adjusted her purse strap, and then remember the paper clutched in her hand. She opened the folded scrap and then gasped softly when she read, 'Greene Dry Cleaning' in neatly typeset script.

"What's wrong?" Rory asked worriedly as she stepped closer to peer at the ticket in Emily's hand.

"This is the claim check your grandfather has been looking for," Emily murmured.

"Oh. Well, we could send it to him overnight," Rory suggested.

"Yes. Yes, we could," Emily murmured as she swung her purse from her shoulder once more. She tucked the ticket into the inside zippered compartment, and then plastered a smile onto her face as she closed her bag once more. "Shall we?" she asked brightly as she gestured to the door.

****

Crickets chirped; singing lullabies as the early summer breeze stirred the gauzy curtains. "I'm doing this," Lorelai whispered as she drew her leg up, letting her toes trail along the inside of his calf and thigh.

"Again?" Luke asked with a smirk.

"The inn," she said as she swatted his bare chest.

Luke leaned over and kissed her firmly. "Yes, you are," he confirmed as he pulled back, resting his head on a pillowcase patterned with tiny lavender flowers and scented like Lorelai.

They lie wrapped up in their own thoughts for a moment, enjoying the scent of warm, damp skin carried on the wisps of unseasonably sultry June air. Luke's long fingers absently separated her tangled curls and then fanning them over her bare shoulder and arm. Lorelai smiled and kissed his chest softly, her fingers tracing the sliver of moonlight that slanted across her bed and slashed across his chest. She giggled soundlessly as one of those newly rearranged curls ticked her arm, and then ducked her head to chase the silvery streak of light with her lips.

She looked up at him, her face lit by the streak of moonlight as she moved on top of him again. "I'm doing this," she whispered. "Again."

"You won't hear me complain," Luke said as he lowered his hands to her arms and pulled her up over him. "But, you have to kiss me first."

Lorelai's eyes lit with laughter as she cooed, "You think you drive such a hard bargain."

His eyebrows shot up as he asked, "Is that a challenge? It looked and sounded a little like a challenge." When she shrugged one shoulder, he smiled as he hooked his leg over hers and rolled her onto her back. He pinned her beneath his solid weight as his eyes pinned her to the pillow like a butterfly trapped under a microscope. "Were you baiting me, Lorelai?" he asked in a low, soft voice.

Lorelai's answering smile was slow; fueled by the surge of power she knew she held in her hands. Her eyelids drooped, laden with pure feminine sensuality as she blinked up at him. She lifted her arms, moving them as if she were trying to swim through thick golden honey as she raised her hands to the pillow in a gesture of surrender, her fingers curling slightly into her open palms.

"Yes. Yes, I was," she said softly.

The breath caught in his chest as he looked down at her, knowing that just like that, the tables were turned and he was helplessly trapped in her web. "Geez, you're amazing," he whispered, unwittingly giving himself away.

When her lips curved into a pleased smile, he licked his lips, knowing that he had to shift the balance of power once more. He covered her wrists with his hands, pressing them into the pillow as he leaned down and captured her mouth in a slow, sweet kiss. His lips curved as she sighed softly against them. He pulled away slightly, his eyes scanning her face; taking in the flushed cheeks, the bright eyes, the creamy smooth skin, and the wild tumble of hair spread over the pillow. He watched as her gaze fell to his lips and then back up again, and one corner of his mouth lifted into a knowing smile.

"You want me, Lorelai," he said softly. He cocked his head, watching her as she absorbed his simple statement and tried to formulate a plan regain control. It may not have been entirely fair, but Luke didn't really care. He kissed her again, drawing her bottom lip gently between his as he pulled back and opened his eyes slowly. "You want me."

"Yes, Yes, I do," she confessed breathlessly.

He pressed his body into hers, grinding against her as he kissed her hungrily, holding her hands imprisoned in his, demanding her response, waiting for the moment he was sure of her complete surrender. It came with a whimper, soft and small, trapped at the back of her throat. He lapped it up, devouring it and holding it deep within him as he shifted between her legs. Lorelai drew her leg up, pressing her thigh into his hip and her heel into his thigh as he brushed against her still wet folds.

Luke groaned, feeling the moisture from their previous union against the tip of him. He balanced his weight on one elbow as he gathered both of her wrists in one hand, and ran the other along the smooth, silken thigh she had draped over him. "Don't bait me, I'll never get enough," he said roughly.

"Good," she whispered as she writhed beneath him enticingly.

He entered her with one sure stroke, his breath hissing from his lungs as she enveloped him hot, wet and tight. He saw her lips curve into a self-satisfied smile and couldn't suppress his soft chuckle. "You win," he whispered.

"We both do," Lorelai answered as she stretched her hands toward the headboard. Luke released her wrists and she immediately closed one hand around the headboard, her fingers curling tightly around the rung as she laced the fingers on her other hand through his and held on tightly. "Do this," she implored him.

Luke's hand slipped from leg, seeking purchase among the tangled sheets as he pushed up above her. He pressed their joined hands deep into the pillow as he pulled away slowly and then thrust into her. She arched up into him, meeting each thrust, welcoming each invasion of her body, pulling him deeper, urging him on.

Lorelai moaned as she felt him gliding slowly away from her again, anticipating the delicious rush of his flesh surging into hers. She loved the feel of him, hot and pulsing inside of her, the thrill of his bare skin wrapped in hers, the warm, wet stickiness of their bodies after they were done. She loved it all. _I'm falling in love with him. Not just love. There was love there before. This is Love, capital 'L'_, she realized as she looked up at him, gasping for air through parted lips. _Oh God, I'm falling in love with him. I don't know how to be in love, _her mind reeled as she licked her lips nervously. She tightened her grip on the headboard, desperately trying to ground herself in what was hers while wanting to give him enough, just enough.

"Luke," she whispered.

"I'll never get enough of you, Lorelai," he confessed in a strangled rush.

"Oh!" Lorelai cried as he thrust harder. "Oh, yes," she moaned, pressing her head back into the downy pillow, her nails digging into the back of his hand. She pushed against the rail of the headboard, meeting each punishing stroke, dying to give herself over to him completely, needing him to just take what she wasn't quite ready to give.

He drove into her, lost in the sensation, reveling in her capitulation. "You want me," he whispered, his voice ragged with the wonder of it.

"Yes," she panted. "I want you."

"Never wanna stop. Never," he chanted as he continued to thrust blindly, barreling toward the edge.

"No, no, don't stop." She felt him shudder and moaned, so wrapped up in the anticipation of his release that her own climax caught her unaware. "Oh," she moaned, melting in the hot, heady rush of him filling her. "Luke," she gasped. "So good, so good," she whispered breathlessly as she released the headboard, confident that she could handle him now, now that she had found his vulnerability. "You feel so good."

He slowed, loosening his vise-like grip on her hand as he collapsed into her embrace, his body quaking under her sweet caresses. "I'm sorry, uh, did you..." he mumbled into her neck.

Lorelai laughed, the sounds bouncing off the walls and falling over his back like spring rain. She wrapped both of her legs around him, holding him deep inside over her. "Yeah, I did," she assured him quietly. "You were a little wrapped up," she teased, her fingers toying with the damp curls at the nape of his neck.

"In you," he murmured.

"Yes," she drawled with a throaty laugh.

Luke chuckled as he lifted his head, brushing her hair back from her glistening forehead with his fingertips. He smiled sheepishly and whispered, "I still can't believe I get to kiss you, not to mention, uh, that."

"That's the second that for the night," she pointed out. "You might get used to it."

"Doubt it."

"I've gotten awfully used to having you around," she said, testing her boundaries.

"And that makes me happy. I like being around."

Lorelai tightened her arms and legs around his body and gave him a squeeze. "I think I'm around you," she joked.

Luke nodded slowly and said, "Yeah, you are."

"I'm happy too," she whispered. His smile grew slowly, lighting his face as if she had just handed him a handful of diamonds, and making the moon pale in comparison. She couldn't help answering it with one of her own, even as she said, "Don't look at me like that."

"I can't help it," he tried to grumble.

Lorelai pecked a kiss to his lips and then whispered, "We should get some sleep."

Luke nodded, but didn't move. "Big day tomorrow."

"Big day."

"Did I tell you that I'm proud of you? Not like I, you know, expected anything else, but I am," he stammered. "Proud and happy for you. And Sookie and Michel."

"Don't talk about Michel in bed," she whispered.

"I'm serious," he said firmly.

"I couldn't have done it without you."

"You would have found a way."

Lorelai shook her head and said, "I don't mean the money, I mean this. You always believed I could."

"Of course I did," he answered with a puzzled frown.

"I'm going to say, 'Thank you,' and you're going to tell me, 'You're welcome,' just this last time, okay?" When he nodded, she kissed him softly and then opened her eyes to look into his. "Thank you, Luke."

"You're welcome, Lorelai. Anytime."

****

Rory was up before dawn once again. She dressed silently and slipped from the suite, hurrying toward the elevator and the business center for her early morning rendezvous with Yahoo. She logged on and waited as her mail loaded, dismissing two more lengthy installments of Paris storming Buckingham Palace, a rambling greeting from Tana, and a 'Hey, how's it going,' line from Marty before zeroing in on a message from .

Rory double clicked the message and leaned forward, biting back a groan of disappointment when she saw the brief message.

_Hey! How's Paris? You aren't missing much here. Actually, you should probably be glad you're gone. I guess I don't have to tell you that the SH gossip mill is fully functional and working at max capacity. I have not seen Dean, except when I see him walking to work at Doose's. I don't think he's working construction right now, at least not that the Dragonfly, from what I hear. The pertinent facts: Lindsay threw him out, and he's living back with his parents. I hear that papers have been filed. Yes, everyone is still talking about it, not that there's anything new to say, but there hasn't been much happening around here. Oh! Luke kicked Patty and Babette out of the diner. Caesar told me that he overheard them gossiping and tossed their plates out on the sidewalk. The inn opens tomorrow, so maybe there will be some nutty guests or something and that gets them talking. You know you're only as good as the latest news in this town. I'll email if I hear anything more. Forget this place and have a wonderful time. I'm soooo jealous. Love, Lane_

Rory sat back in the chair, skimming the words again, parsing them for subtext, and practically diagramming each sentence in her head. _Lane hasn't seen Dean. That means that Dean hasn't asked about me, or where I've gone. Of course, he probably knows where I am. All Mom had to do was mention it to Sookie, and the whole town would know within hours. She kicked him out. Was he trying to make up with her? Was he trying to stop the divorce?_ Rory blinked at the flashing cursor on the screen. _Do I want him to stop the divorce? I don't want Dean to get divorced because of me. Oh God, what if Dean gets divorced because of me? He'd be single. He'd be single and I'd be single, so it could all work out. Is that how I want it to work out? What about school? What will happen when I go back to Yale? Will I be obligated to him? Obligated? Oh my God._

Rory pitched forward in the chair, propping her elbows on the desk as she buried her face in her hands. The truth of the matter is that she didn't plan on any of this. Her mother was right. She, the girl who plans everything had no plan for how to deal with an impulsive decision that had turned into a need for validation and somehow morphed into an act of rebellion. And the worst part of it was that she hadn't meant for any of it to happen. Not the impulse, not the validation, not the rebellion. She knew better than anyone that she had nothing to rebel against. Well, almost nothing. There was a certain amount of pressure that came with being the girl whose mother had her at sixteen, but managed to beat all of the odds. There were expectations that came with being the town brain. There was a fatal flaw that came with being the girl who always had a plan. What does that girl do when she figure out that she may not live up to expectations? What does that girl do when she fails for the first time in her life? What does that girl do when she steps off the path and can't find her way back?

Rory raised her head, wiping away the tears that blurred her vision. They burned, just like the tears that burned behind her eyes as Jess stood in her empty dorm room and begged her to run away with him. That burning, searing pain that made her throat close and cut off her air. She looked into his earnest brown eyes and saw it all there; the truth about Jess, the truth about herself. He was scared. Scared because he loved her and didn't know what to do about it. She was scared. Scared because there was a moment, a split second; a tiny breath of time when she wanted to say yes. She wanted to say yes to it all, place her hand in his and let him take her away from it all. Away from being Lorelai Gilmore's daughter, and Richard and Emily's granddaughter. Away from Stars Hollow, and its festivals and town meetings. Away to a place where the gossip mill didn't out-produce the cider mill. He loved her, and she wanted to go; to run away with him to a place that would never crown her Ice Cream Queen. There in that moment, he loved her like she had loved him, but she knew that it was too late. She couldn't trust him. She couldn't just throw it all away, everything that she had worked for, everything that she had ever known, and just take off into the night.

_When Jess stormed from her room that night, Rory had wrapped her arms around her stomach, holding on tightly, afraid to let go for fear that she would completely fall apart._

"_Are you okay?" Dean asked from the doorway._

_Rory whirled and stared at him open-mouthed. "You're still here."_

"_I just wanted to be sure that you are okay," Dean said as he stepped into the room._

"_I'm fine. He just… I don't know," she finished quietly as she hung her head._

_He saw her shoulders quake, and closed the distance between them. "Did he hurt you?" he asked through clenched teeth._

"_What? Oh! No, no, nothing like that," Rory said quickly._

"_You're still in love with him," Dean said quietly._

_Rory shook her head adamantly. "No. No, I'm not. I just feel bad. I hurt him, and I guess I should feel better about that, I mean, he hurt me first, right? But I don't. I feel bad for hurting him."_

"_That's because you're a good person," Dean said as he reached out and touched her arm gently._

_Rory laughed bitterly. "How can you say that? I hurt you too. For him," she pointed out._

_Dean nodded slowly and said, "Yeah, I remember that."_

"_And you didn't deserve that. You did nothing to deserve that. I was so stupid, falling for him and everything I thought he could be, when I had you, and you were great. The best. And I just kept hurting you, and I never wanted to do that," she said, her eyes pleading for understanding._

_Dean wet his lips nervously as he looked down into her tear soaked blue eyes. "Rory," he whispered, his voice breaking with need, his love for her written plainly on his face._

_And there, in that moment, as he lowered his lips to hers; there was no Jess, there was no Lindsay. There was just Dean loving Rory, and Rory wanting so desperately to be loved by someone who loved her at that exact moment._

****

Richard sat with his back to his desk, staring out the window at the substandard view afforded by his cramped office. Technically, it was the corner office that Floyd had promised him. But that was only a technicality. His home office was almost twice as spacious, and far more richly appointed. His previous office at the firm had afforded him a view of the landscaped lawns, not the paved parking area. Of course, Emily hadn't yet had a chance to give this office her personal touch. Instead, it was furnished with a desk from a high end office furniture company, and not an antique treasure she had unearthed. The credenza was severe, its clean lines un-softened by the framed photographs she had given him of herself, Lorelai and Rory and the beautifully framed photograph of his mother in all of her regal glory. There was no framed art on the walls, no rich Persian rugs to cover the industrial grade berber on the floor.

He toyed with his favorite Waterman fountain pen, weaving the cool sterling silver between his fingers, working it to the very tips before clutching it safely in his palm and starting all over again. Emily would be leaving Paris tomorrow, and he didn't know where they would go after that. He was tempted to call Lorelai and ask what the next stop on the itinerary was, but doing so would mean admitting to his daughter that he had lost track of her mother. Not that she would be surprised. After the blow up at the test run, the disarray of his marriage should have been obvious, even to a blind man.

He reached for the telephone pressed the intercom. When his moron of an assistant answered, he said simply. "Please get me my daughter, Lorelai, at the Dragonfly Inn at Stars Hollow. That would be in Connecticut," he added before disconnecting. He sighed, hoping that she would have better luck tracking down Stars Hollow that she had with local dry cleaners and five star Parisian hotels.

A moment later, his assistant knocked on his door. With a sigh, Richard turned back to his desk and began to shuffle some papers. "Yes?"

The nervous young woman appeared holding a Fed Ex envelope that appeared to be printed in French. He heart sped up as she approached, extending the envelope as she murmured, "Your daughter, Lorelai, is on line one, Mr. Gilmore."

Warmed by the sight of the envelope, he took it from her with a small approximation of a smile and a murmured, "Thank you, Ellen."

"Eileen," she murmured and pulled the door closed behind her as she returned to the safety of her desk.

Richard picked up the receiver and pressed the flashing light on his phone. "Lorelai?"

"Hi Dad," Lorelai said distractedly. "Listen, I'm sorry, it was really nice of you to call, but things are insane at the moment. Our first guests should be arriving at any time, and Cletus has flown the coop again, or stable, as the case may be," she rambled.

"Oh, I'm sorry to interrupt," Richard said with a puzzled frown.

"No, I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude, please don't rat me out to Mom. I just, I'm nervous and there are a million little things to do still," she said quickly.

"Of course there are," Richard said as he noted the date on his desk calendar and understanding began to dawn. "Well, congratulations Lorelai," he said jovially. "You should be very proud of what you have accomplished."

"Thanks, Dad. Listen, I know that things are a little crazy at the moment, but it can't stay this way, right? It's Friday night, I know, but why don't you come to the inn for dinner tomorrow and I'll really be able to show you around," she offered. "You didn't get to see much of it last weekend."

Richard's eyes widened at the invitation. "If you don't think it will be too much trouble," he said gravely.

"No trouble at all. I have to eat sometime, don't I?"

"I would love to come for dinner. What time would you like me to be there?" he asked.

"Um, would a late dinner be okay? Seven-thirty? That way I can be sure that all of the guests are taken care of."

"Wonderful. I will be there tomorrow at seven-thirty," he confirmed as he tore open the Fed Ex envelope and pulled a heavy while business sized envelope from it.

"Great. Oh, and thanks for calling, Dad," Lorelai said distractedly.

"See you this evening, Lorelai," Richard replied as he frowned at the hotel stationary. He slit the envelope as he heard Lorelai disconnect, and then gently placed the receiver back on its cradle before peeking cautiously into the envelope. He saw a small piece of folded pale green paper, and a larger sheet of heavy velum embossed with the 'Four Seasons George V' crest. He pulled the larger sheet from the envelope and opened it, only to find Emily's perfectly fluid penmanship, and only one line.

'_Richard, I'm afraid that it was in my wallet the entire time. My apologies for inconveniencing you. Emily'_

He stared at the nearly blank page, his breath coming fast and shallow as he tried to comprehend the incredible amount of white space surrounding the flowing black ink. _Eighteen words. She had written only eighteen words, and for the first time in nearly forty years, not one of them was 'love' or 'darling' or 'dearest'. Had he ever received even the barest note from Emily that hadn't been signed at the very least, 'Yours'? _Richard inhaled sharply, forcing his lungs to expand as he placed the paper gently on his desk, like a rare specimen to be studied and dissected. He reached into the envelope without looking. He didn't need to; he knew what the folded scrap of paper was. He had won custody of his grey suit, but this simple note told him everything that nine unreturned phone calls failed to confirm. He had lost Emily.

****

"What are you doing here?" she asked as she hung up the phone.

"I just wanted to bring you these. A little congratulations," Luke said as he held up a bouquet of lilies, roses, irises and tulips nearly identical to the one he had presented to her six days before.

Lorelai took the flowers he held in front of him and brought them to her nose for an appreciative sniff. "That's twice," she murmured as she felt a flush of pleasure warm her cheeks.

"What is?"

"Twice that you've given a woman flowers. Very easy stat to remember," she told him with a blinding smile.

"Yeah," he muttered, ducking his head self-consciously as he glanced around the reception area. He shoved his hands into his pockets and asked, "You ready?"

"I think I am," she answered, her eyes locked on him. "I want to be."

"You'll be fine," he said confidently. "So, I, uh, I should get out of here, let you do your thing," he said as he jerked his thumb toward the door and took a step back.

"Thank you," she said as she gestured nervously to the bouquet.

Luke smiled and then leaned toward her slightly as he asked in a low voice, "The other ones were dead by now, right?"

Lorelai's smile widened as she nodded. "Yeah, they mostly are, but they were incredible."

"I'm glad you liked them," he said with a nod.

"Loved them. I loved the flowers," she said sincerely.

"You're staying here tonight?" he asked.

Lorelai nodded and then glanced around before she asked in a whisper, "Are you?"

"Do you want me to?"

She nodded enthusiastically as she raised the bouquet for another sniff. "Yeah."

"I'll be by after closing," he said quietly. He looked up as Michel appeared from the parlor holding a clipboard. "All right! Well, knock 'em dead," he said in an awkward, far too enthusiastic voice.

Lorelai laughed as she shot Michel a glance and said, "We'll do our best, but let me just apologize right now if we lose all your money."

"Eh, it was only money, right?" he said with a wave of his hand as he opened the front door. He heard a car crunching in the pea gravel drive and smiled as he turned back to Lorelai and said, "You're on. Good luck."

****

The windshield wipers swished noisily, wiping away the deluge of rain that had drenched Paris since the pre-dawn hours. Hope turned to Rory and asked, "You're sure that you don't mind getting a little wet?"

"I'm game if you are," Rory answered.

"Your grandmother thinks we've lost all of our senses. I bet she's curled up in front of a fire with a cup of tea and a trashy book," Hope said with a tinkling laugh.

"A trashy book? Grandma?"

"Oh, your grandmother has appalling taste in books. She just displays the classic and the best sellers, but she keeps bodice rippers in the nightstand," Hope said as she gazed out at the dreary rain-soaked streets. "She also prefers those sappy Hollywood musicals where the heroine's foot comes off the floor when the handsome hero kisses her."

"I like those too," Rory admitted with an impish smile.

"Me too," Hope said as she turned to her great-niece with an irrepressible grin.

"Who knew that Grandma was such a romantic," Rory mused.

Hope's smile faded as she said, "Perhaps I shouldn't have told you. Emily would be horrified that you know that." She took a deep breath and said, "I'm a little nervous and excited to have some time alone with you. Sometimes when I'm a bit jittery I talk too much," she admitted with a grimace.

"I know someone a lot like that."

Hope chuckled and said, "Lorelai was always a champion dissembler."

"Still is," Rory agreed as she turned to look out her window. "Where are we going?" she asked, abruptly changing the subject.

"Ah, I'm going to give you a guided tour of my cathedral," Hope said with a sly smile.

"Notre Dame?"

"Yes." She tucked her fall of silver hair behind her ear as she smiled and said, "I know you've already seen it, and probably had one of those stuffy group tours where they herd you through like cattle, but I want to show it to you myself."

"That sounds like fun," Rory answered, returning her great-aunt's infectious smile.

"It will be. Of course, I must warn you that we will both be thoroughly and extensively de-briefed over dinner. Your grandmother is terribly jealous that we are spending the afternoon together."

"She is?" Rory asked, surprised.

"She would never admit it, but she is. I don't blame her really. After all, she is your grandmother, and she takes her responsibilities as such very seriously. Me, I am simply the dotty old aunt who swoops in like Auntie Mame and claims all of the fun for herself."

"I love Auntie Mame."

"Wonderful movie, isn't it?" Hope said as they drew to a stop near the cathedral. "It's wonderful to get to be someone's Auntie Mame"

She leaned forward, speaking to the driver in French so rapid that Rory had a difficult time identifying more than three words. She paid the fare, and then nodded for Rory to exit the cab on her side. The rain pelted their umbrellas as the dodged puddles, laughing at nothing as they hurried toward the imposing façade. Hope reached for Rory's arm as they were halfway across the square, and pulled her to a stop. When she turned expectantly to her great-aunt, Rory was puzzled by the pensive expression on Hope's face.

"What's the matter?"

"Why are we running? We aren't going to stay any drier," Hope answered with a shrug.

"True," Rory said as she glanced up at the ineffective umbrella over her head.

"Let's get positively soaked," Hope said with a decisive nod, and then lowered her own umbrella, yanking it closed with a nod as the torrential rain plastered her hair to her cheeks and forehead, burnishing the gleaming silver to pewter in the dim grey light.

Rory's smile lit her eyes as she said, "Why not?" and did the same. "This is nuts," she called over the sound of the rain splattering against aged stones.

"It's marvelous," Hope said as she turned her face up to the sky. "You can't hide from the rain. It always finds you."

"True," Rory said as she followed suit, her gaze sweeping over the magnificent cathedral as she tipped her head back, letting the rain wash over her face.

"What are you hiding from?" Hope asked as she tipped her head to look at Rory. "Is it a young man? Did he break your heart? Did you break his?" she asked with an indulgent smile.

Rory's eyes opened wide as she lowered her head, shielding her face with her hand. "I'm not hiding," she said too quickly.

Hope laughed and said, "The truly amazing thing about young people is that they think that you were never young once." She turned to fully face Rory and said, "Rory, no young girl runs away to Paris on an impulse unless she's running from something. Especially not with her grandmother," she added with a sad shake of her head. "You don't have to tell me anything," she assured her as she laced her arm through Rory's. "Let's begin our tour."

"Okay," Rory answered cautiously.

"There once was a young girl who fell madly in love with an utterly acceptable man," Hope began.

"This is part of the tour?"

"This is part of my tour," she corrected gently. "He was perfect. The right family, the right connections, the right fraternity; he even had the right haircut and his wingtips were always perfectly polished when he came to Sunday dinner. The girl was crazy about him, which was a shock to everyone, including herself, because she always considered herself a bit of an outsider, a wild card, I guess you could say," she continued. "The girl's mother was over the moon about the match, the girl's sister was a newlywed herself and beside herself with plans for the wedding that was sure to take place. The girl still had another year of school to complete, but it seemed to be inevitable that she would not receive a degree under her maiden name. The perfect man graduated that year, and his parents threw a lavish party at their estate, where it was expected that he would propose to this very lucky girl."

"Why do I have a feeling that he didn't?" Rory asked as she smoother her rain slicked hair back from her forehead.

"No, he didn't. Instead, he stood there in his perfect white dinner jacket and his charmingly askew black tie, and said absolutely nothing as his parents introduced her to the perfect blonde debutante daughter of his father's business partner. She was just back from finishing school in Paris, and was apparently completely finished. She shone like a diamond, petite and soft-spoken, genuinely kind, the kind of woman that you would love to hate, but cannot admit that you do because that would make you a monster."

"Oh no," Rory whispered.

"Oh, yes. They announced their engagement that night, as I stood beside my parents, my sister and my new brother-in-law and toasted their future together."

"How horrible! He couldn't have warned you? He couldn't have said something?"

Hope smiled and pulled Rory to a stop. "I was so blinded by love that I couldn't see him clearly. Yes, he was perfect, tall and handsome and sweet, so attentive. He would have done anything for me, I know that. The problem was that he would have done anything for anyone who asked. That was just the kind of man he was. When his parents told him that they would prefer for him to marry his father's partner's daughter over a girl who meant nothing to them or their family, of course he could see their point."

"That's awful!"

"No, darling, what's awful was that I loved him so much that I couldn't see that he didn't love me. He never did," Hope said smiling sadly at she glanced up at the slowing rain. "He's a nice man. His wife is a darling. She never fails to send me Christmas cards with photos of their perfect children and insanely perfect grandchildren."

"Okay," Rory said cautiously.

Hope smiled and said, "You're wondering why I'm telling you all of this." She reached up and carefully removed one of the spectacular drop diamond earrings that she always wore. "Here," she said as she reached for Rory's hand.

"Oh no, I couldn't" Rory stammered as her eyes opened wide.

"Oh, I'm not giving them to you, you silly girl. I still need them. Someday, though, I will leave them to you," she promised as Rory closed her fingers around the precious amalgamation of metal and stone. "No, no, let the light in. They're no good unless you let the light in," Hope said as she gently pried Rory's finger open. "Hold it up. See how even when it pours, the light still bounces through it. I don't wear these because they are beautiful or because their ostentation drives your grandmother insane. I wear them because they always find the light, no matter how dark the day."

She carefully lifted the earring from Rory's fingers and began to put it back on. "When I came to Paris, I never wanted to fall in love again. I never wanted to give my heart to someone that way, or to be responsible for someone else's heart for that matter. I never wanted to cause anyone that kind of pain," she said as she lowered her hands and captured both of Rory's.

"But life is about pain, sweet girl. Pain makes us who we are. When your mother left and took you with her, your grandmother wouldn't leave her bed for over a month," she told Rory bluntly. "Emily has never been very good about telling or even showing people how she feels. She's a lot like our mother that way. I chose not to be that way, but I also chose not to contact your mother after that. Even though I knew exactly what she was feeling, I wanted to punish her for hurting my Emily, I suppose," she said with a rueful smile.

"I didn't know that you existed until I was sixteen," Rory confessed.

"I doted on Lorelai when she was young. From a distance, of course, but I doted on her. When she became a teenager, I would send her the latest Parisian fashions to show off for her friends. I thought being an aunt was great fun. Lorelai and I always understood each other."

"You're a lot like her, or, she's a lot like you, I should say," Rory corrected herself.

"Yes, I know. When your grandmother took to her bed, Richard called me, desperate for help. I flew to the states and to Emily's side, but she didn't want to see me, to see anyone that wasn't Lorelai." She took a deep breath and confessed. "I became very angry with your mother. I grew frustrated with your father's search for her. After a month, I advised him to give up, and told your grandmother to get up, that I was leaving and they were both going to have to stand on their own two feet."

She gazed up at the rain splattered stained glass and murmured, "Tough love. You tell yourself it's for the best. After all, you've already been through the most devastating loss of your life and you've learned to go on. You tell yourself that they will survive, with or without your help. You flee to Paris once more, even though there is nothing but an empty apartment waiting for you there, and you tell yourself that is where you belong. You throw away the postcard you receive with the picture of the charming New England inn on the front and tell yourself that she'll have to learn her lessons the hard way."

"Oh. She never talked about you," Rory said with a frown.

"Why would she? I hurt her. I withheld the love and understanding of the one person in her family that even remotely knew who she was."

"Yeah."

"Pain is the most motivating factor anyone can ever face. Not love, not fear, not loyalty. Pain moves act on those things. You love someone because it hurts your heart not to, you fear losing that love and fear the pain that comes with that inevitable loss, and believe me, it is inevitable. You pledge your loyalty to him knowing that there will be not other end for it other than pain. But what most people don't realize is that pain is beautiful in its own way. It's like the light captured in these hunks of polished carbon. You capture pain, and it radiates from you in so many ways, so good, some bad."

Hope turned and pointed to a section of stone on the rain-washed square. "That's where I was struck by lightning. I stepped on his toes wearing very high heels. He felt pain, no matter what kind of feather he compared me too. I caused him pain, and he fell in love with me. The poor fool," she murmured, wiping away hot tear that the rain couldn't possibly disguise.

"I don't know what brought you to Europe, but I'm glad that you came. I'm happy that I get the chance to know you," she said sincerely.

"I'm glad too."

"You're in pain right now, and I'm sorry for it. But I hope that in time, you may be able to sift through it enough to find a little bit of good. I promise you, it is there," Hope told her.

"Thank you," Rory said as she wrapped her arms around the older woman in an impulsive nod.

"And when you are ready to talk about it, don't discount your grandmother. She may seem stiff and unyielding, and depending on what it is that you need to talk about, I might recommend giving her a highly sanitized version of the truth," she added with a smirk. "But she adores you every bit as much as she loved your mother. I believe that you may understand her a little better than Lorelai did. She may also understand you."

"Maybe," Rory said doubtfully.

"Well, we won't talk about it anymore. We're soaked to the skin. What do you say? Should we crash your grandmother's tea party, wrap ourselves in robes and order everything on the room service menu?" she asked, glancing up as it began to rain harder again.

"Sounds good, but can we skip the foie gras?" Rory asked as they went in search of a taxi.

"I was thinking we force them to make us thick, juicy cheeseburgers."

"Thank you, God," Rory murmured under her breath.

****

Pain is the great equalizer. It brings everyone to their knees at one point or another. So you spread it as far as it can go, hoping to take a few down with you. And down they go; Dean, Lindsay, Jess, and yourself. A few innocent bystanders get caught in the crossfire, but that's bound to happen when you declare war on the life you have always known, and a life that you can call her own. And Rory knows that no one should know this better than Lorelai.

**

You look up as the two of them burst through the door, laughing and soaked to the skin. You try to ignore the sharp stab you feel in your heart, and tell yourself that you should be happy that they found each other. You should be happy that two people that you love so intensely can be happy together, even when they are both so painfully unhappy. The problem is that you are unhappy too, and once, just once, you want to be soaked to the skin too. Even if it is a ridiculous, foolish thing to do.

**

You're warm, so warm and comfortable as you hear her turn off the alarm and roll over to face you, that for a moment, you decide that the rest of the world can wait for their bacon and eggs. You just want to stay here next to her, warm, sweet, and soft as she caresses your cheek.

"Luke," she whispers, and suddenly an thousand icy pinpricks are biting into the back of your neck, raising the hairs there, startling you from depths of your contentment.

"Hmm?"

"It's time to get up," she whispers in the darkened room, even though it's still only the two of you wrapped up in this in-between world. The sheets are neither his not hers. The pillows heretofore unclaimed by anyone.

"Don' wanna," you mumble, hoping that she'll curl into you again and drift back to sleep. But her thumb strokes your cheekbone as her fingers tickle your ear and you know it's not going to happen. You can't help but give it one last shot. "They can eat at Weston's," you grumble.

You hear her laugh softly and finally pry your eyes open to find hers within centimeters. You try desperately to focus, but you can't because she's kissing you softly and saying, "You have to get up. Michel will be here soon, and we'll get caught."

Her words are like a bucket of ice water, washing over you as you blink rapidly, still trying to see her clearly. "So?" you dare to ask.

"Not yet," she whispers back. "I'm just not ready to share this yet."

And you don't know exactly how to answer that. Suddenly you're cold, painfully cold beneath the sheet pooled at your waist. "Yeah, okay," you manage to mumble as you struggle to sit up under the weight that threatens to crush you. "Yeah, I should get up," you mutter as you swing your feet from the bed and stand up too quickly. You stumble a bit and stub your toe on the nightstand, cursing as the pain travels up your leg and she buries her face in the pillow and giggles.

The pain courses up your spine, dancing over vertebrae in its haste to rendezvous with the icy prickle that radiates from the base of your skull. You scowl down at her shaking shoulders and back and whisper, "It's not funny," as you hobble off to the bathroom to start yet another morning with a walk through the cool, grey pre-dawn light.


	7. Picking Through the Wreckage

A/N: Thank you to **IkilledKenny** for her infinite patience in waiting for this story to unfold. As usual, it's taking much longer than I anticipated. Special thanks to all of you who read and review. I truly appreciate it!

**Picking Through the Wreckage**

It's very difficult to keep tabs on your wife when you don't want to admit to anyone that you seem to have lost her. Lorelai turned out to be no help. When you gently probed for the name of the hotel that Emily and Rory would be staying in when they got to Vienna, Lorelai simply mumbled about it being something 'majestic, imperialistic or ritzy' before remembering a pressing matter that she needed to talk to Sookie about and then darting into the inn's kitchen. Very late one night, you swallowed what was left of your tattered pride and dialed a Paris telephone number, only to be greeted by an answering machine message that was as vague and flighty as your sister-in-law, and reminded you disturbingly of your own daughter.

You know that you are being pathetic. You know that you should give in, hunt her down, beg her forgiveness, and plead with her to come home. You know that you are weak, but somehow you can't let yourself give in and take that one last step. Doing so would be admitting defeat, and you have witnessed Emily's triumph enough times to know exactly how smug her smile can be. You yearn to see her again, but the one thing that you don't want to see is that victorious gleam in her eyes. It's bad enough that you know that you are less of a man without her; it would simply give her too much power to know that too.

_Life is a battle, and you either enter it armed or you surrender immediately._ Your mother's words haunt you. They haunt you and they taunt you, because you know that your devotion to her was only one of the many, many reasons that Emily was now gone. No. You fall back, you regroup, and you draw up another plan of attack. Well, not really attack, you simply want to track her movements. In battle, it's important to know your enemy's every move. You just never thought that Emily would be your adversary.

Your mother would be so pleased. That was no secret now. She would be dancing a jig if she had known that Emily had left you. That is, until she became incensed on your behalf. Trix never approved of your marriage. Trix never thought that Emily had what it took to be a Gilmore. What Trix didn't know was that it was you who did not have what it took. What she never saw was that it was Emily who made you strong. She ran your household as if she were a general issuing commands, and if orders were not followed to the letter, the fool who dared to defy her wishes was immediately subject to court martial. No, Emily was the one who was fearless in battle. Trix would never give her the credit due to her, and it was your fault for not making your mother see. And now Emily was gone, but she had not surrendered. And you know that as far as Trix was concerned, the 'surrender immediately' part was never really an option. It was a good thing that you decided not to place her ashes on the mantle. She would surely rise up like a phoenix if she knew how quickly you would surrender the last of your pride, if only Emily would let you.

You reach for the phone and dialed the number written in Emily's immaculate script. "Yes, Ralph Hastings, please," he said smoothly. When the gentleman in question came on the line, he sat back in his chair. "Ralphie? Richard Gilmore. I seem to have misplaced Emily's itinerary. Would you be so kind as to fax me another one?" he asked smoothly. "Thank you so much," he said with a sly smile as he leaned forward and chose a celebratory cigar from a humidor once owned by Victor Hugo.

He hung up the phone and stared at the humidor that was once his father's and then was bequeathed to him by his mother. He turned to face the credenza, his eyes lighting on another humidor; this one made in 1917 and once owned by a lieutenant in the First World War. He stood up slowly, holding the unlit cigar clutched between his fingers as he gently cradled the humidor Emily had given him and carried it to his desk. There, he transferred the cigars from Victor Hugo's humidor to the one belonging to the nameless, faceless lieutenant, but given to him by the woman he loved.

**

Cool stone corridors were an excellent place to cool your jets. Stained glass filtered the sun, saving you from its harsh spotlight, and granite and marble slabs with deeply etched names and dates are your new obsession. You find it comforting to tour the old churches, the ones with their graveyards preserved under time worn stones. People seldom talk when they tour these places. If they do, they speak only in hushed, muted tones, and the only reply one expects is a soft hum of acknowledgment.

You know that your grandmother thinks you are morbid. You feel her watching you when she thinks you are unaware. You know that she is worried. But you can't talk about it. Not yet. Not to her. Not to anyone. It isn't that you don't want to, you simply can't. For weeks, the words have piled up in your throat like rocks cascading one on top of the other. Each e-mail from Lane elicits another rush of them, but it has come to the point where you can hardly type the words, much less speak them aloud.

The irony isn't lost on you; you haven't lost all of your faculties, just the ability to speak your mind. The fact that you can't seem to find the right words to say seems a perverse, yet fitting punishment for your sins. You are a Gilmore after all, and Gilmores are never at a loss for words.

The words - thousands of tiny pebbles of could have, should have, and would have saids - pile up around you until you realize that they are more dangerous than boulders. The need to let them out presses on you; filling every space inside of you, cutting off precious air, suffocating you from the inside out. So, you seek refuge in these places of silence, where nothing should be said. You spend your days in blissful quiet so that when the evening comes, you can muster up enough strength to talk about what you saw and what she bought, that it can pass as polite conversation. You seek haven in those places where the silence is as divine as forgiveness from above. You hope that the forgiveness will come from above, because right now, you are having a hard time finding it within.

**

You can't go back, you know that. All you can do it go forward. Either that, or stand still.

_Will you just stand still?_

Yes, standing still seems to be the safest option when everything is crumbling around you. If you stand still long enough, things will stop falling apart, and then you can start to rebuild them; piece by piece. Each day, you perfect your Sisyphus routine, pushing that boulder up that hill, knowing it will roll back to the bottom before the dawn breaks again.

So, you build on what you can. You focus on what is good. You learn to ignore everything else.

You ignore the postcards that Lane has taped to the doorframe in the diner. When Luke quietly asks you if you want him to take them down, you shake your head quickly, and simply pretend that they don't matter. You ignore your father's quiet disapproval when he asks about Rory's travels and you don't have any answers, playing it off as if you have no interest in the never-ending rounds of museums and galleries they are sure to be taking in. You ignore your lover's quiet sighs as he creeps from your bed in the pre-dawn light, and cling to the delicious secret known to only the two of you. Well, the two of you and Sookie, but she has been sworn to silence under the threat that you could sic Michel on her newly re-staffed kitchen.

You don't want anyone to know. You know that it's selfish. You know that it's silly. You can't help it. This is yours and yours alone. Okay, it's his too, but you know him well enough to know that he's not about to shout it from the rooftops. He'd hate being under the scrutiny that your relationship would surely invite. You can't risk that. After all, he hasn't proved to be much better at this whole relationship thing than you have. No, the rooftops aren't safe. You don't want it exposed, for fear that someone or something will try to destroy it, and you need it. You need him far more than you have ever needed anyone. Anyone except Rory, that is.

It's too new, too fragile, and too precious. You want to lock it away where no one else can ever touch it. You want to pick up the crumbled pieces of your life and use them to build something to protect it. Something strong, something impenetrable, something that will last. You want to lock him up in Fort Lorelai and hunker down, because you have fallen in love with him, and that scares you more than the threat of nuclear annihilation.

**

You can practically smell the credit card smoking in your handbag. You have cut a swath through some of the finest stores in Europe, and you are proud that you haven't bought him as much as a necktie. But you have seen some he would have loved; silk, subtle patterns with just a dash of flair. Three countries later, your younger sister's words are still tormenting you. You know that she's right. You know that you have over-reacted. You know that your behavior has been childish, and yes, a tiny bit erratic. You know deep down in your heart that no matter what he did or did not do, he didn't do the one thing that could possibly have justified your behavior.

You had made it through the first week fueled by indignation and bolstered by Hope's calming presence. You muddled through the second one by immersing yourself in your granddaughter's cultural explorations, but soon came to suspect that she would probably have preferred to be making her expeditions on her own. You step back, giving Rory the breathing room that you could never bring yourself to accord Lorelai. You had already learned that lesson the hard way.

You focus your energy on seeking vengeance on his hard earned money. After all, you earned it too, in a way. It was paid for in tears. Tears shed over canapés and cocktails, tears brought on by an urgent plea for him to sacrifice you at the altar of his sainted mother. Tears of sorrow for a beloved friend lost, and tears of pain when there was no one there to console you. You need vengeance for the little slights and the greater wrongs. You crave retribution for the hotel phones that do not ring. You sink into bitterness, resenting his silent perseverance, knowing that his ability to exist without you casts your own inability to live without him into harsh relief. You wish that you had never sent him that dry cleaning ticket. You hope that it never got there. You pray that the cleaners have donated his precious grey suit to a homeless shelter. And then you breeze past a carefully crafted window display of a fine tobacconist, and hope that he enjoys his smelly cigars while he can, for soon he will not be smoking them in your house.

**

You've never been the 'Let's hold hands and skip through a sunlit field of wildflowers' type of guy, but suddenly the thought appeals to you. Suddenly you want to invite everyone you have ever met to witness you plucking the petals off of a daisy one by one asking the eternal question. _She loves me? She loves me not?_

But you don't do that. For one thing, you can't stand the sight of daisies anymore. But more than that, you fear the outcome. Is it wise to pin all of your hopes on the chance that a damn daisy would have an even number of petals? You figure it's probably just as wise as pinning those same hopes and dreams on a woman so far out of your reach that you can barely touch her, even when you stand on the tips of your toes.

She doesn't want anyone to know. She doesn't want anyone to see. She wants the cover of darkness, not the light of the sun. She wants them to hide. Dinners in Woodbridge and Litchfield, and movies in Hartford or Woodbury, and nights tucked away in the safety of her bedroom. You try not to let it bother you. You try to tell yourself that it doesn't matter, that you're lucky, that you finally have her, that you are living the dream.

Who needs a bunch of small town busybodies sticking their noses in where they don't belong? Who wants to have their every move reported via phone tree? Who wants to be forced into attending the seemingly weekly festivals and rummage sales that pop up in the town square? Certainly not you. You hate that stuff. And even if you didn't have to sneak out of her house each morning before Babette and Morey wake up, you still wouldn't want that anyway.

But still, it bothers you when she walks through the door and sits at your counter as if you hadn't made love to her just hours before. You know that you have. It irks you when she calls at the end of a long day asks if you're coming over. She should know that you are. And it pisses you off that every day you struggle to break down that wall between you brick by brick, only to find that she has added a whole new layer on top. You just don't know if you have the strength to break through.

A part of you wants everyone to know. A part of you wants the world to know that she is yours and you are hers. Hell, it's not just a part of you; the urge to scream it vibrates in every fiber of your being. You want to point to her and say, 'She chose me'.

You find yourself staring at the sledgehammer that leans in the corner of you closet. You remember how good it felt to slam it into the wall between this building and the next. You remember how cathartic it was to point to the crumbling plaster as if were proof that you intended to keep Jess around, one way or another. One night, you stand in the open closet door in your underwear trying to decide what to put on, and you reach for it. You test its weight in your hand, hefting it up onto your still damp shoulder as if you could strike the blow that would open it all up.

But you know that you won't. She's right there, just out of reach. What if you let go and the force of the hammer smashes it all to pieces?

You fumble for the answer. Every night, you shower and dress, forcing yourself to present a slightly improved version of you, just in case she might be ashamed to be seen with a guy who lives his life in flannel and a backwards baseball cap. Every day, you pour her coffee and answer her inane and annoying questions, hoping that you are putting on the show that she will enjoy, the one she wants everyone to see. And every morning, just before dawn, you hold your breath, waiting to hear the one word you want to hear most in the world: Stay.

********************************************************************************

"The good news is that you are no longer the headliner, Jerry Cutler found out that his new wife lied about her age, and she is apparently older than the wife he dumped for her," Lane reported as she clutched the phone tightly. She paused and bit her lip hard. "Wow. Maybe that wasn't the best thing to say," she said softly.

"No, no, it's no problem," Rory rushed to reassure her friend before the words got trapped in her throat. "Have you, uh, has he said…"

Lane sighed heavily. "I've run into him twice since my last e-mail. Still nothing. Canned peas are on sale three for a dollar, though," she said wryly.

"I see."

"Rory, I heard that he and Lindsay, well, I guess they're still talking," Lane said gently.

"Oh, well, good. Good. They should talk," Rory answered, searching the plush hotel room for someplace to hide.

"I don't know if it's talking like they are trying to work things out, or talking like they are trying to divide things up, but Suzy Butler said that she saw them at Weston's the day before yesterday," Lane said cautiously. "I wasn't sure if I should tell you, but I think that you should know. I think that I would want to know. Did you want to know?"

"Yeah, I want to know," Rory whispered.

After she hung up, a strange wave of relief washed over her. _He still hasn't asked about me. He was talking to Lindsay._ Rory stared at the packed suitcase sitting just inside the bedroom door. _He told you he's leaving her? He told you he's moving out, they're getting divorced, he's got a lawyer, they've divided up the monster-truck season tickets? _Rory flopped back on the bed, letting her feet dangle just above the floor as she blinked up at the ceiling. _Yes, he had taken the ring off. Yes, he had said that things were not working out with him and Lindsay. Yes, he had said, 'I love you, Rory.' But no, he had never said that he planned to leave her._

She pushed herself up off of the bed and hugged herself tightly as she walked to the window to stare down at the Grand Canal. Below her, a tall, thin, dark-haired woman ignored the more sensible water taxis lined up in front of the hotel and crossed to a waiting gondola. She grinned as she pulled her friend down into the teetering boat and then spoke to the gondolier in rapid fire Italian. Tears filled her eyes as she watched the two women collapse onto the seat, dissolving into fits of laughter. She felt a sharp pain in her chest, and pressed her hand to her heart before whirling away from the window and crossing to the bed to finish packing a few last minute items into her messenger bag.

****

"Yes, for the sitting room I want orchids, the best you can find. Roses in the main bedroom. Reds, oranges, gold; a veritable inferno of color. Pale pink and lilies for the smaller bedroom. Something young, sweet and fresh looking," Richard said with a satisfied nod.

He listened for a moment and then sat forward in his seat, picking up his fountain pen and making a note next to 'Hotel Eden - Rome' on the faxed copy of Emily's travel itinerary. "Yes, but only one arrangement per room. Nothing too ostentatious. Simple, elegant, but overwhelmingly vibrant," he instructed firmly.

He waited patiently as the concierge repeated his request back to him in heavily accented, but impeccable English. "Yes, and remember, Mrs. Gilmore prefers still water to sparkling," he cautioned.

Richard nodded again as he focused on the airline information printed just below the hotel's name and address. Four more days, and she would be home. Only four more days, and she would be back where she belonged. _Only four more days, and I'll be able to make everything right again_, he told himself as he hung up.

Richard stood and stretched, cinching his robe a little tighter at his waist as he switched off his desk lamp and shuffled to the door in his slippers.

****

"How are you today?" Hope asked gently.

Emily sank down on the edge of her bed, sighing into the receiver as she fielded her daily check-up phone call. "I'm wonderful. A man pinched my bottom in the Piazza San Marco yesterday."

"Was he delicious?"

"He was round and perspiring, and he had about six hairs on his head," Emily said with a wry smile. "His scampi looked delicious, though."

"Well, I have often found some nice scampi can be far more satisfying than any man," Hope answered sagely. "Any word?"

"None." Emily reached out to touch the arrangement of sterling roses bundled into a bowl at her bedside.

"And you leave Saturday?" Hope confirmed.

"Yes. We are off to Rome today, and then we fly back Saturday. We'll stay the night in New York before heading home."

"You'll feel better when you are home. Richard was never one to go too far out on a limb. He's probably waiting for you anxiously. I'm sure that once you talk, really talk, you'll be able to work this all out."

"I suppose I'll have to call him so that we can make arrangements. God forbid, Richard should make any arrangement for himself," Emily said bitterly.

"Arrangements?"

"Well, I'm not going back to that hotel. If anyone is going to leave, it should be him. That's my house. Everything in it is mine," Emily said stubbornly.

"Now, Emily," Hope began sternly.

"I have to go," Emily said brusquely. "The bell man his here to collect our bags."

"Call me from Rome," Hope insisted.

Emily's fingers tightened on the receiver. "I'll call you, but it isn't going to change anything," she agreed quietly, before placing the receiver back on the cradle.

She sat straight, pressing the palms of her hands to her skirt and smoothing non-existent wrinkles. Lifting her chin, Emily drew in a deep breath and then lifted the receiver once more. She pressed one button on the phone and then drummed her nails impatiently on the nightstand. "Yes, this is Mrs. Gilmore. Were you going to send a bell man up, or shall we simply schlep our luggage down to the lobby like guests at the local Holiday Inn?" she demanded.

****

Lorelai walked through the door late Wednesday night with a grocery bag clutched in one arm and a handful of mail in the other. She had run to the supermarket in Woodbridge after failing to escape the Dragonfly in time to catch Doose's before they closed. The meager groceries in the bag were to soothe Luke's increasing worry that she was actually going to eat the molding cheese in her fridge. The mail was an accumulation of two days worth because she had been so tired when she finally got home Tuesday night that she didn't think that she could make it all the way to the mailbox. Of course, she had sufficiently recouped her energy by the time she heard the back door close and Luke's boots fall at the foot of the stairs.

She looked down at the slippery handful of magazines and junk mail and sighed as she tossed it onto the table. She unloaded a package of fresh cheese, a box of Bagel Bites, a carton of eggs and a small carton of milk that she hoped would translate into heated kisses, a shorter lecture and a little less tension in his broad shoulders.

She put everything away, prominently displaying each item on its own shelf, except for the Bagel Bites, which took up residence next to an emergency pint of Ben & Jerry's. Lorelai prodded the pile of mail on the table, giving it a cursory glance to see if there looked to be anything of interest. When nothing caught her eye, she turned toward the living room, contemplating the wisdom of a long, hot soak in the tub. She made it two steps before the call of Chunky Monkey became too insistent to resist. She sighed as she walked backwards toward the counter and reached for the silverware drawer. She liberated a tablespoon and carried it to the freezer, where she allowed herself to scoop out one heaping spoonful of frozen ambrosia.

Lorelai opened wide and shoved the spoon into her mouth as she replaced the lid and let the freezer door swing shut behind her. She pulled the spoon from her lips as she passed the table, and out of the corner of her eye spotted a corner of an expensive linen envelope peeking out from under the latest issue of _InStyle_. She paused and reached for the creamy envelope, frowning as she spied the Paris postmark.

Shoving the spoon back into her mouth, she danced from foot to foot as the frozen treat numbed her teeth. She slid one finger under the flap and hurriedly tore the envelope open. When she unfolded the perfectly creased sheet of notepaper, her eyes widened in recognition as she saw the shockingly familiar penmanship that graced the page.

_Dear Lorelai,_

_I suppose I should offer my apologies, since this note is almost two decades overdue. I have no excuse other than stubbornness, but considering what I have heard about you and your life, I am sure that you are familiar with the trait. _

_I have had the pleasure of meeting and becoming better acquainted with Rory, and I would be even more unforgivably remiss if I were to let another day go by without telling you what a wonderful job you have done raising that incredible girl. I know that you must be terribly proud of her, and you have every right to be. Brava, Lorelai, Brava!_

_I am old enough now to admit that I do indeed have some regrets in my life. Admittedly, they are probably too few considering all that I have seen and done in my life. One of the biggest regrets is the memory of how I turned from you when you needed me most. I have no excuse for my behavior, but now that I have met Rory, I think that you can at least understand what it means to love someone so fiercely that you would protect them at any cost._

_The price I paid for my love for my sister was the opportunity to share in your triumphs and tragedies. I dare not beg your forgiveness for I know that a note dashed off on impulse is far too little, far too late. I will, however, ask you to try to understand why I did what I did. When you left, you dealt what I feared would be a fatal blow to my beloved Emily. _

_I am gratified that you were able to maintain some semblance of a relationship with your mother, even if it is for Rory's sake alone, as Emily believes. For your sake, I hope that the years have given you the distance and wisdom that you need to truly appreciate your mother for who she is. I know that she has always been as much as a puzzle to me as I am sure she is for you, but her love for you is no less abiding than your devotion to Rory, despite what she will allow you to see._

_I hope that you are having a wonderful life, my beautiful little Lorelai. Despite my pigheaded silence, I have thought of you often over the years, and I hope that you have everything that you have ever dreamed of. I have every faith that if you have not already, you will find a way to capture those elusive dreams soon enough._

_With love,_

_Auntie Hope_

_(As you can see, I still dream of being Rosalind Russell when I grow up. Tell me, have you grown up to be Madonna as you once wished?)_

Lorelai sank slowly into a chair at the kitchen table, pulling the empty spoon from her gaping as she re-read the letter she held in her trembling hand.

She didn't know how long she sat there, memorizing every word the filled the page, studying the perfectly even slant of each line, every impeccably formed letter, and the rebellious flair with which each word ended. She wasn't exactly sure what she was feeling as she read it over and over again, but she knew without a doubt that that the voice she heard in her head was Hope's. She flattened the letter on the table, smoothing that perfect crease with her thumbnail until it lay flat, staring back at her.

She jumped when she heard footsteps on the back steps, and quickly shoved the letter under the pile of mail at the center of the table. She turned in time with the twist of the doorknob, and smiled with relief when the door swung open and Luke stepped over the threshold.

"Hey," he said, blinking in surprise as he spotted her at the table.

"Hi. I just got home," Lorelai said as she stood up. She glanced down at the spoon still clutched in her hand, and then shrugged slightly as she stepped to the counter and dropped it into the sink with a jarring clatter. "Are you hungry? I got Bagel Bites," she said with an enticing smile.

****

Rory sat perched on the edge of her bed, a hot wave of homesickness bubbling up inside of her like molten lava. She's been fighting it back since Venice, but it kept coming back, rushing through her body, burning through her veins until she was sure that there could be nothing left inside of her. At least, nothing but an overwhelming urge to be back where she belonged.

The only problem was that she wasn't sure that she belonged there anymore. She wasn't the same girl that left in a flurry of small town scandal. She wasn't the earnest college student that they were all so proud to call their own. She wasn't the Ice Cream Queen, or a pilgrim or Esther. She certainly wasn't the innocent young girl whose need to be helpful led to the creation of the 'Rory Curtain' that hung in Stars Hollow Video.

The only thing that she knew for certain was that she was still Lorelai Gilmore's daughter. And at that moment, she missed Lorelai Gilmore more than words could say. She stared at the phone, wondering if she could make the words she needed to say come from her lips. She wanted to. She wanted to say them so badly that she could taste them. They lingered there at the back of her throat, bittersweet.

She closed her eyes and concentrated as hard as she could, forcing the most important word onto her tongue, and at last, speaking it aloud to the empty room.

"Mom."

Rory opened her eyes, and stared at the phone once more. But as she reached for it, she realized that she didn't have any words to back the first one up.

****

This was her favorite time of day. Whispered conversations with her cheek pressed to his shoulder and her fingers tracing lazy circles in the soft hair that covered his stomach. "I got a letter from my Aunt Hope," Lorelai said softly.

"Aunt Hope?" Luke asked. His brow furrowed as he searched his memory for any mention of this particular relative.

"My mom's sister. She lives in Paris. She met Rory."

"Met her? They hadn't met before?"

"Well, technically I guess they had, but Rory was only a few weeks old," Lorelai explained.

"Oh." Luke puzzled over this revelation, trying to figure out how someone gets lucky enough to only have to deal with their relatives every couple of decades.

"I haven't heard from her since I left Hartford."

"Not at all?"

"Nope. Not even a note when I was supposed to marry Max. Maybe she was the one that sent the fascist ice cream maker," she mused.

"Fascist ice cream? Do I want to know?"

"The ice cream wasn't fascist, the machine was a Mussolini or something like that," Lorelai said as she pressed a soft kiss to his bare chest, and smiled enigmatically.

Luke smoothed her hair with the flat of his hand, pulling her into a gentle hug as he smirked up at the moonlight playing across the ceiling. "She just wanted to tell you that she met Rory?"

"Yeah. She said that I did a good job raising her," Lorelai said quietly.

"You did."

"Doesn't feel like it."

"You did. No matter what you two say to each other, or what either of you does, nothing can change that," he said adamantly.

"We don't say anything to each other," she whispered, unable to trust her voice.

"You will." Luke tucked his chin to his chest and shifted on the pillow to look down at her. When she raised her eyes to his, he looked into them and said with the utmost confidence, "You will. No one can talk like you two."

"I hope you're right," Lorelai said as she pressed her face into the crook of his neck, kissing him softly as he lifted his hand to her head and cradled it protectively.

****

"Mr. Gilmore?"

"Yes?"

"Mrs. Gilmore is on line one," his secretary announced through the intercom.

Richard slowly lowered his pen as his eyes fixed on the flashing red light on his phone. He pulled his glasses from his nose, and folded them carefully before tucking them into his breast pocket. He smoothed his palms over his hair and took a deep breath before reaching for the phone.

"Hello, Emily," he said in a carefully pleasant tone.

"Hello, Richard," Emily replied crisply.

"How are you? Are you having an enjoyable trip?"

"Very enjoyable," Emily said primly. "Rory has been soaking it all in."

"Wonderful. She is a bright, inquisitive girl, and the more she can see of the world, the better."

"Yes." Emily paused for a moment and then launched into the purpose of her call. "We will be coming home this weekend."

"Oh?" Richard asked innocently, smiling to himself as he leaned back in his chair.

"Yes. We will arrive in New York on Saturday and stay the night at the Plaza before returning home on Sunday."

"Well, I will look forward to seeing you both on Sunday."

"Yes, well, that's why I'm calling. I think it would be best if you were to move into the pool house," she said brusquely.

"The pool house?" Richard asked blankly.

"Yes. We can have it redecorated if that would make it more comfortable for you."

"Comfortable?"

"Unless, of course, you have made other living arrangements," Emily said stiffly.

"No. No, I have not made other living arrangements," he said slowly.

"Well, very well, the pool house should be adequate until we can decide the best course of action."

"Best course of action?" he asked, his voice rising steadily.

"Yes. I would appreciate it if you could move your personal things out there before we get home on Sunday. Just ask Shriva to pack whatever it is you'll need," she instructed. "Goodbye, Richard," she said firmly, and then hung up.

"Shriva?" Richard stared at the dead receiver in his hand. "So, that was her name," he murmured as he placed it back on the cradle. He sat back in his chair, covering his mouth with his shaking hand as he turned to stare out into the employee parking lot.

****

"Luuuuuke!" Lorelai called as she breezed through the diner door Friday morning. His lips curved into a smile that he had to bite back quickly as he carried an armload of plates into the dining room.

"Pipe down," he growled under his breath. Her eyes lit, and he knew that she was thinking, 'That's not what you said when I called your name last night,' or something along those lines. There were times when he wished he didn't know her so well. "I gotta deliver these," he said gruffly as he danced around her.

Lorelai watched as he deftly juggled the orders. The moment the last plate was in place, she smiled and called, "Luuuuuuke! I have something for you," in a sing-song voice.

His eyes swept the packed diner, checking to be sure that the lunch crowd was suitably satisfied before he turned to her, unthinkingly leaning in to kiss her hello.

Lorelai reared back, her eyes widening as she made a show of covering her nose and mouth. "Do I have something on my nose?" she asked loudly, covering for his slip up.

Luke's eyes were flat as the color rose in his cheeks. "I was trying to see what it was. Ink, I think," he muttered as he headed for the safety of his counter.

"You are a poet." Lorelai rubbed her nose vigorously and then lowered her hand. "Better?" she asked with a pointed stare.

"Sure, whatever," he said as he busied himself making a fresh pot of coffee.

"Don't you want it?" Lorelai asked, glancing around nervously as she gestured in his direction with a white envelope.

"What is it?" he asked without turning to look.

"Something that belongs to you."

Luke's head jerked up as he frantically tried to remember what he could have left at her house that would fit in a standard business envelope. "Belongs to me? Did you get my mail?"

"Nope. It's something that was yours, and then you gave it to me, and then I'm giving you a part of it back. Just as we agreed," she added in a lower voice.

"Huh?"

"Would you just take it?" she said, sliding the envelope across the counter as he had months before. "Right on time, actually, a week early," she said with a giddy smile as his hand covered the envelope.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"It's your first payment," she hissed between her teeth.

"Lorelai, I…" he began, the tips of his ears flushing a deep crimson.

"You will take it," she said firmly. "You will never regret investing in the Dragonfly, my friend. We are book solid for the next two weeks and it isn't even foliage season," she crowed.

"Luke, you invested in the inn?" Patty called from the table near the door.

Lorelai turned and smiled at her. "He did. He was our go-to guy," she said with an emphatic nod.

"Supposed to be a silent partner," Luke said darkly.

"Pssht," Lorelai said as she waved him off. "We are on a roll! We never would have made it this far if it weren't for you, and I don't care who knows it." Lorelai's beaming smile faltered as she turned back to him and caught his ferocious scowl. "Come on, Luke, you should be proud," she cajoled as she glanced nervously over her shoulder. "You helped your friends, and we are not going to let you down." Lorelai turned back to him, trying to convey her gratitude and excitement with her eyes.

"I think it's wonderful that you invested in the Dragonfly," Taylor piped up from his stool at the other end of the counter. "People helping people is the backbone of a community. Besides, it's always wise to diversify your holdings," he said officiously as he gestured to the window between the diner and the Soda Shoppe. He nodded approvingly, causing Luke's face to flush even more. "I would be a fool to keep all of my eggs in the market," Taylor said, chuckling at his own joke.

Luke stuffed the envelope into his back pocket and grunted, "Thanks," as he whirled to pull the half full pot of decaf from a burner. "Who needs decaf?" he called to the crowd, and then skirted the end of the counter without giving Lorelai another glance.

****

That afternoon, Lorelai's cell rang as she signed the last of the invoices Michel held on a clipboard. Without bothering to check the display she flipped it open. "Hello?"

"It's me," Rory said quietly.

"Oh. Hello."

"Bad time? Are you busy?" she asked hesitantly.

"Uh, trying not to be," Lorelai answered as she walked toward the door. "How are you doing?"

"Good. You?"

"Good."

There was a long pause, and then Rory said, "I was at the corner of Bark and Cheese today."

Lorelai smiled as she stepped out onto the porch and headed for one of the wicker chairs that flanked the door. "Bark and Cheese? Really?" she asked with a fond smile.

"And it's exactly the same."

"Exactly the same? Was there a tiny, little Italian dog in a basket barking the whole time you were there?"

"Not this time, but I definitely had flashbacks," Rory reported with a smile.

"Did you have a nice piece of cheese with your coffee?"

"I still say I said the correct word for 'cream' in Italian. I even pointed at my coffee when I asked for it. How could I be asking for cheese?" Rory argued.

"But cheese you were brought," Lorelai said smugly.

"Stinky cheese. The worst, don't forget."

"That you proceeded to eat," she reminded her daughter.

"Because I hate people who make mistakes when they order, especially in a foreign country, and then make a big to-do when they get the wrong thing. Ugly Americans. Yuck," Rory said with a shudder.

"Aha! You admit it was a mistake. You did say 'cheese!'" Lorelai crowed.

"I know French, a bit of Spanish, but my Italian, not so good."

"Being trilingual is plenty for a young lady."

"Yeah." Rory sighed sadly. "Mom?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry.

Lorelai exhaled with relief as she smiled sadly. "It's okay."

"I screwed up. I screwed up so bad. I handled everything wrong."

"Oh, honey."

"I keep reliving everything over and over. It's such a mess. I just want to fix it. I have to fix it," she said vehemently.

"You will."

"I can't wait until I get home," Rory said quietly. "I'll be there on Sunday."

"Enjoy your time in Rome. Have some espresso and limburger for me."

"I will." She hesitated for a moment, and then said sincerely, "I love you, Mom."

"I love you, too. Bye."

"Bye."

Lorelai closed her phone and curled her fingers around it tightly as she pressed it to her heart. She tipped her head back and stared up at the hanging baskets of flowers that decorated the porch. She rolled her head to the right, and smiled as she stared at the spot where she had stood still. Lorelai inhaled deeply, drinking in the scent of the flowers as she conjured up the memory of Luke's arms around her. She looked down at her phone, and then flipped it open with her thumb.

When he answered the diner phone, she smiled warmly and said, "Hey, it's me."

"Hi," Luke answered cautiously, turning away from the counter and pulling the phone cord behind him as he ducked into the kitchen.

"Rory just called. They'll be home on Sunday," she told him; hope coloring her tone and turning the simple words into something brighter, something better.

"Oh, good. Good. Was it good?" he asked, cautiously optimistic.

"It was good," Lorelai assured him. "How are things with you? Good? Have you been flooded with investment opportunities? I hear Kirk was thinking about buying some spiders so that he could get into the web hosting business," she joked. When Luke didn't respond, she fidgeted in her seat and said, "Get it? Spiders? Web hosting? Not into cyber-humor?"

"Yeah, I got it." Luke chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment and then said, "Listen, Lane's coming in at five and Caesar is going to close. I think we need to talk."

Lorelai's heart leapt and then began to beat rapidly. "Luke, if this is about the check…"

"Yeah, well, we need to talk about that too," he said grimly.

"Why do I have a feeling that this is going to be a bad talk?"

"No, no, not bad. We just, there's some stuff that I… I just think we need to talk," he concluded wearily.

"Well, I can tell it's not going to be good," she grumbled. Lorelai pushed her hair back from her face and then pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. "I have dinner with my dad tonight," she reminded him. A faint hum of static punctuated the silence that hung heavy between them. "I guess I'll call you when we're done," Lorelai said at last.

"Okay."

"Okay."

"Talk to you then," he said gruffly.

"Yeah, bye," Lorelai said as she lowered the phone, flipped it shut and dropped it into her lap.

_Okay, maybe I shouldn't have told everyone that Luke invested in the inn. He's a very private guy. But, he should be proud of that. Look at this place. Look at what we've done._

She turned to look at that magical spot just in front of the inn's wide, welcoming door. _He's just as much a part of this place as the rest of us._ _If_ _it wasn't for Luke, okay well, for Rachel, we wouldn't have even known about it. And now look at it. Look at us._

Lorelai jerked her eyes from the spot where he had first kissed her, and stared hard at the porch rail, wishing that she could reach it from where she sat.

_Things are moving too fast. Things go up too high and then the bottom drops out too quickly._ _I'm not strapped in. I don't have a harness to hang onto. I'm flying without a net. What if he lets go?_

Lorelai pulled her upper lip down between her teeth as she blinked back a rush of hot tears and wished that she could reach that damn rail.

****

Richard stood at the mirror in his closet knotting his bow tie. The new valet he had hired after firing Emily's maid hovered nearby, collecting the items that Richard wished to have dry cleaned, including the shirt with the stained cuff that he had just discarded. His eyes drifted to the rows of neatly hung suits reflected in the mirror, immediately locating the only garments still cloaked in the thin plastic the dry cleaner had draped over it.

"And would you like me to take this one to your tailor to have the alterations you wanted done, Sir?" Robert asked as he nodded to the still shrouded suit.

"Oh." Richard cleared his throat as he gave the tie one last adjustment. "No, thank you, Robert, I'll have to see Antonio for a fitting," he lied quickly as he pulled the jacket he had removed a short time before from the hanger that Robert had efficiently hung in on. He shrugged into it, and then shot the cuffs on the fresh shirt. "I will be having dinner with my daughter this evening, I shouldn't be too late."

"Very good, Sir," Robert replied with a stoic nod as Richard swept from the room.

Richard jammed the key into the Jaguar's ignition and twisted it, anxious to escape the house that had felt like a tomb for the past two days. This would be the fourth dinner he had shared with Lorelai since Emily and Rory's departure. The fourth evening filled with stilted conversation, and carefully worded inquiries. The fourth time he had deliberately chosen awkward pauses over oppressive silence.

The first time he had gone to dinner at the Dragonfly, he told himself that he was merely doing his paternal duty by supporting his daughter's initiative. He had left at the end of the evening, warmed by Lorelai's enthusiasm, and proud of what his child had built. The second time, he justified his trip to Stars Hollow by acknowledging, if only to himself, Robert's shortcomings in the culinary arena. He certainly had no trouble with appreciating Sookie's tremendous skill as a chef after a week of dining on the much simpler fare his valet could provide for him. But, last week had been a very difficult week. He was lonely, and uncertain. He had spent too much time alone in a too quiet house. Last week, he hadn't even bothered searching for an excuse as he drove to the tiny town thirty minutes from home. And when he had opened the menu and found meatloaf, mashed potatoes and glazed carrots on the list of specials for the evening, it was almost more than he could do to keep from breaking down and weeping with relief.

That evening, he arrived at the Dragonfly to find Lorelai at the center of the whirlwind of activity that she seemed to leave in her wake wherever she went. As they were seated, Richard frowned, noting the weary look in her eyes, and the wan smile she offered to their young waiter.

"Is everything all right?" he asked solicitously.

"Everything is fine, Dad," she answered in a distracted tone. "It's just been a very busy week."

"Ah, well, that's good, isn't it," Richard said encouragingly, hoping to ease the deep furrow that marred the pale skin between her eyebrows. "You certainly seem to be doing well here," he commented as he scanned the bustling dining room.

Lorelai nodded as she took a sip of her water. "So far, so good." She opened her menu, forcing a bright, fake smile as she nodded to his menu and said, "You're in luck. Sookie has both the stuffed pork chops and her magic risotto on the menu tonight."

****

Luke sat slumped in his chair, nursing his second beer and an extremely bruised ego. Everything he needed to say to her, everything he wanted to ask her, played on a continuous loop in his head. He stared unseeingly at the baseball game on the television, letting the bottle dangle from his fingers as he tried to remain calm. But calm was not coming easily to him at the moment.

He was angry. He was hurt. He felt used. He felt confused. It amazed him that she was able to keep it all so separate. It boggled is mind that the same woman who whispered his name in that achingly sweet voice could dodge his kiss. It made his heart ache that he was the one she wanted to hold her when she cried over the pain and confusion her daughter had caused; but she wanted to keep him at arm's length when it came to sharing a meal with her father. And, it made his blood boil that that she seemed to think he was good enough to screw her senseless nearly every night, but she didn't want the neighbors to see him walk through her front door.

Luke took a long pull on his bottle of beer and then scowled at the label. _I let her do this. I let her set the boundaries, running to her like a goddamn lap dog every time she called, _he thought with a disgusted snort. _I let her use me. I let her keep me apart from the rest of her life. I have no one to blame but myself, _he thought morosely. _But no more. It ends tonight, one way or another. Well, after she's done having dinner with her dad._

Luke lowered the bottle of beer and raised his left hand, turning his wrist to check his watch. He knew that they would just be starting dinner. He knew that it would be at least an hour or two before he heard from her. Apparently, Gilmores simply do not eat and run. From what she had told him about the Friday night dinners she attended at her parents' house, there would be drinks, followed by a salad course, entrée, and then dessert. Sometimes, if they managed to make it through dinner pleasantly enough, there may even be an after dinner drink. And so, he had to wait.

_I should be used to waiting for her by now,_ he thought darkly. _I've spent the past eight years waiting for her. I'm tired of waiting. I shouldn't have to wait any more._

Luke shifted in his seat, reaching behind his back to feel for whatever it was that kept poking into him. His forehead creased as he felt the stiff white envelope he had stuffed into his back pocket earlier that day, and he yanked it out from under him. His lips thinned into a line as he glared at the offending piece of stationery, remembering the day that Lorelai had sat at his counter and tried to interest him in looking at the dragonfly logo printed at the top left corner.

He placed the bottle on the floor and pushed up out of the chair, his eyes locked on the logo. "The inn that I invested in," he murmured as he tore open the flap and pulled out a check drawn from the Dragonfly Inn, Incorporated account. He didn't even bother looking at the amount before tossing the check and the envelope onto the end of his bed. He hurried toward the bathroom, stripping both of his shirts over his head and dropping them carelessly to the floor before starting the water in the tub.

Ten minutes later, he stood in front of his closet in his underwear; freshly shaved, and his hair curling damply at his neck as it broke free from the tracks of his comb. He pulled a pair of black dress pants from a hanger, and then selected a bright blue shirt with a button down collar. He dropped them onto the bed on top of the check before going back to his dresser to rummage for a clean white undershirt. Soon, he stood pulling a stiff black belt through the loops on the pants, flexing his toes in the thin black socks he had hastily yanked onto his feet.

Once the tab of his belt was safely tucked into the first loop, he bent down to search for a pair of seldom worn wingtips. He tossed the first one out of the closet before squatting down to peer more closely into the darkened space. He spotted the other crushed under the head of his trusty sledge hammer. Slowly, Luke clamped the heel of the shoe between two fingers as he wrapped the other hand around the smooth wooden handle and stood up.

He stepped back, pressing his lips together as he studied the abused wingtip in one hand, and then the heavy hammer held tightly in the other. With a slight nod, he leaned the sledge hammer up against the end of his abandoned bed, and scooped the other shoe from the floor before dropping down onto the mattress to pull them on. Once the last lace was firmly tied, he stood up, hiking his pants up at the waist a bit, and pressing the front of his shirt down into his pants once more. Luke loaded his keys and wallet into his pockets, and then spared the sledge hammer one last look before he strode from the room determined to do what he needed to do.

********************************************************************************

Sometimes, the better part of valor is to know when to surrender. Sometimes, it's all you can do to push your way out from under the rubble of your failed marriage and climb your way to the top of the wreckage. You stand poised on the brink, looking at the strewn pieces of nearly forty years, wondering if it you should give rebuilding one last shot. But you know that you can't do it alone. It's a two person job. You've been doing it alone for months now. It's too hard, living two people's lives when there is only one of you.

You pull the black satin mask down a little more, making peace with being the bad guy, resolving to walk away. You stand there, balanced precariously atop the crumbled bits of stone and mortar, chastising yourself for your arrogance in thinking that your marriage was built to last a lifetime. You know better than anyone that strength of will is a formidable force, but one person cannot win a war all alone. There's only thing you can do when you are the last person standing.

Emily shifted onto her side, pulling a mascara streaked white handkerchief from under her pillow as she pulled off her mask and wiped her eyes one last time before surrendering to the inevitable.

**

You count the seconds, knowing that they are ticking by too slowly. You watch every forkful of food as he lifts it to his lips, knowing that you can't make him eat faster, no mater how badly you want him to. You answer his questions, ask a few of your own, crack a couple of jokes that fall flat, and then try one more, pathetically gratified when your father deigns to chuckle.

Neither of you speak of the elephant in the room. Neither of you so much as glance at the two empty chairs at a table that was originally set for four. Neither of you dares to peek at the heavy gold Rolex on his wrist. For as much as you want this dinner to go faster, you dread what you may hear later.

You stare at the asparagus on your father's plate and begin making nonsensical deals with yourself.

_If he doesn't dump me, I'll eat whatever disgusting vegetation he wants to put on my plate. If he forgives me for outing him in front of the entire diner, I'll swear off coffee, no wait, onion rings for a week. No, a month. A month with no onion rings. Please, I'm not ready for this. I don't want to have this talk. THE talk. Hey, if he doesn't dump me, I won't talk anymore. Ever. How's that for a deal? I screwed up, I know it, but everyone screws up sometimes, right? It's not like I rented a giant light up billboard that says, "I'm in love with Luke Danes." It's not as if I ran to Patty and gave her every teensy weensy little detail; where he touches me, what he smells like, how he tastes, why I can't sleep without him there… _

You blink and look up, vaguely aware that your dad has asked yet another polite question. You apologize and make some lame excuse about needing to check on the supply of pillow mints, and then flee.

**

For once, you are grateful for Lorelai's distraction, because it matches your own. You wonder if you should say anything to her. Then again, you have both been so careful over the past month, it seems a waste to lay everything bare at this late date. After all, it's not as if she's ten years old anymore.

An image of a ten year old Lorelai, freckled and bright eyed, her dark hair tamed into two neat plaits over each shoulder swims in front of your eyes. You blink it away, knowing that you need not explain to the Lorelai sitting across from you that mommy and daddy will no longer be living in the same house.

You watch as she toys with her risotto, for a moment you find yourself uncharacteristically curious as to what could be troubling her. You spear a piece of asparagus and remind yourself that she is no longer your little girl, but a grown woman with a grown daughter of her own. She doesn't need you anymore. She never really did. Just like her mother.

You try to focus your thoughts, and then clear your throat gently before asking about the inn's capacity for the fourth time in as many weeks. You jump as she jumps, snapping out of her reverie and clearly not having heard a word that you said. Just as you are about to reassure her, to tell her to eat her dinner because she so obviously is running herself ragged, to promise her that you don't need to talk; she jumps up and practically runs from the table, muttering something about mints.

You stare down at the remains of your pork chop and tell yourself sternly that you had better finish it, despite your waning appetite. Heaven knows, that it could be the last decent meal you see for a while. You slice off another bite, and glance around the dining room, noting the now empty tables, and wishing you had thought to bring a newspaper to read.

**

Home. You just want to go home. You want to shake off the cold that chills your body. You want to lie with your head in your mother's lap and feel her fingers in your hair, holding it back, stroking it softly as you regurgitate the words that have choked you for too long.

You're tired of running. You're tired of hiding. It's time to do something. It's time to make something happen. Or not happen. Ever again.

Either way, you need to set things right. You need to fix it. You hope that you can fix it, because you really want to go home.

_Screw Thomas Wolfe. I will fix it. I'm going home._

**

_This could be a huge mistake_.

You know that as you climb the steps of the inn. You pause; standing in the exact spot you stood nearly a month before and took the biggest chance in your life. You're about to do it again. You're about to hoist that sledge hammer and break down the door. Not literally, of course, doors were too hard to come by for this place. No. This was all just figurative. Well, as figurative as it can be when you are gambling with your own heart. This is it. You're about to push everything you have into the pot and lay your cards on the table, and hope that you can take her. You just can't take this anymore.

You used to tell yourself that having a little bit of her would be enough. You used to think that you could have a marriage where you only gave as much as you wanted to give. You used to think that there was only one woman that you would ever love. Now you know that none of those things are true.

Luke sank down into one of the wicker chairs that flanked the door. _When Rachel left, I survived. When I married Nicole, I knew that I'd never be able to give her what she deserved to have. The first time I saw Lorelai, I knew that she was different. I didn't know how, and I didn't know why, but I knew._

He sat forward, wringing his hands between his knees and then rubbing his sweating palms together nervously. He breathed in through his mouth and then exhaled slowly, focusing on expanding and collapsing his lungs as if he would forget how to breathe otherwise. He looked over at the spot where his lips first touched hers, and was struck by three undeniable truths._ Having a little bit of her is torture. I want to give her everything that I have to give. And I love her. I love her so much more than I ever thought that I could love anyone. _

_Maybe that was my big mistake, but there's not a damn thing that I can do about it now._


	8. The Breath of Life

A/N: Yes, I know that this should be Packaged Goods, but this has been rattling around in my head. It's mainly Lorelai and Luke because I can't do much with the others until they return. Thanks so much for reading and reviewing, I really appreciate it.

**The Breath of Life**

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in, lift the receiver. Breathe out, open the door. Your fingers wrap tightly around the phone. Your hand tightens on the door handle. The air hangs heavy and thick, the silence humming around you, the buzz of it filling every available space. You brace yourself, your senses on high alert, tying to decipher which way the wind blows, and preparing yourself for the concussion from the blow you fear will come.

****

The sound of her own breathing rushed through the receiver, echoing in her ear as the phone rang and rang on the other end. She breathed in deeply, trying to calm her pounding heart. When his machine picked up, Lorelai hung up and scowled at the phone on her desk. She quickly picked up the handset again and dialed the diner.

"Hey, Lane, is Luke there?" she asked, wincing at the thin, breathy sound of her voice.

"No, he took the night off, Lorelai," Lane said distractedly. "Do you want me to tell him to call you if I see him?"

"Oh no! That's okay. It's not important," Lorelai said quickly. "I'll see you later."

"Okay, bye," Lane answered. As she hung up the phone, Lorelai heard her call out, "Caesar? Is that patty melt going to have to make itself?"

Lorelai sighed as she used her finger to depress the button to end the call. She quickly redialed, chewing her bottom lip as the apartment phone rang and rang again. When the machine kicked on, she stood up a little straighter and waited for the beep.

"Hi, Luke. You're, uh, probably in the shower or something. Or maybe you went out. I don't remember you saying you were going to go out, not that you have to check with me before you go anywhere, I'm not your mother, right?" she rambled, laughing nervously. "Um, I just wanted to call, and uh, I'm a little nervous about this talk thing. That you want to talk, I mean. Let's face it, you never want to talk. I'm the one who talks and talks and talks," she went on, twisting the phone cord tightly around her finger. Her voice dropped as she ducked her head. "Listen, I know it was wrong, okay? But I think that you and me, it's not wrong. And I hope that you don't think it's wrong. You and me, not the check thing. I just… I have a bad feeling about this, you know? This is going to be a good talk, right? Could you at least train your answering machine to lie to me and tell me that it's gonna be a good talk?" she asked with a heavy sigh.

She pressed her lips together as she stared down at the framed photo on her desk. She and Sookie stood with sledgehammers in front of them as Michel hovered between them, the three of them grinning madly as the Dragonfly's dilapidated porch threatened to give way beneath their feet. Lorelai shifted slightly as if to brace herself for the inevitable fall. "I'm sorry. I was trying so hard to protect you from all this, and then I just blabbed your business in front of the whole town," she said quietly. "I was just, I was excited and proud and stupid," she trailed off. "Anyway, I should get back. I kind of just ditched my dad in the middle of dinner. I'll, well, I'll talk to you later, won't I?" she asked with a wry smile, and then hung up the phone.

She opened her bottom desk drawer and rooted around in her purse until her fingers wrapped around a tube of lip gloss. Lorelai straightened up and took two deep, calming breaths before uncapping the gloss and applying a slick, shiny layer to her lips. She capped the tube and dropped it to the blotter on her desk before smoothing her hands over her skirt. She lifted her chin and walked quickly to the door, wondering how she'd manage to force another grain of rice down her tight throat.

****

He sucked in a deep breath of the sultry evening air, and then pressed down on the handle as he exhaled. The first sound Luke heard when he stepped through the Dragonfly's door was the humming monotone of what was presumably English spoken with a heavy French accent. He glanced at reception and was gratified to see that the couple standing in front of the desk seemed to be as completely at a loss as he would have been if he had given a damn about what the French putz was saying. He turned, and walked through the parlor; his strides long, his steps determined. But when he stepped into the dining room, he drew up short, spotting Richard Gilmore sitting alone at a table for four, his knife and fork balanced carefully on his plate as he waited for it to be cleared.

He would have turned and walked away, but at that moment, the older man looked up; his eyes passing over Luke and moving away before recognition dawned and he turned back.

Luke took a deep breath and forced himself to step forward. "Hello, Mr. Gilmore," he said as he offered his hand. "Luke Danes."

"Ah, yes Luke. How are you?" Richard inquired politely, but didn't bother to rise from his chair as he shook Luke's hand.

"I'm good. Good," Luke replied with a nod. There was a pause that lasted a beat too long before he asked, "And you?"

"I am very well, thank you."

Luke glanced around nervously and then his gaze landed on the abandoned risotto at the place setting across from Richard. "Lorelai isn't around?"

"Well, she was, but there seemed to be some trouble with the pillow mints," Richard said with a puzzled frown. "I imagine she'll turn up eventually. You're welcome to join me if you'd like to wait for her," he offered as he gestured to one of the empty chairs.

Luke hesitated for a fraction of a second, and then nodded once. He pulled out a chair and sat down, clasping his hands tightly on his lap. "So, you had the pork chops?" he asked as he nodded to Richard's nearly decimated plate.

"Yes, they were delicious."

Luke nodded again, starting to feel like one of those ridiculous bobble-head dolls. "Sookie makes a hell of a chop," he agreed. "One you could almost lose your head over," he added with a nervous chuckle.

"Excuse me?" Richard asked, clearly befuddled.

Luke waved his hand dismissively and said, "Nothing. Just a joke. Lorelai… Well, I have this old sign in the diner with a dancing pork chop and it says something about losing your head over a good chop. Lorelai likes to mock it," he explained with a helpless shrug.

"Ah, I see."

The two men lapsed into silence for a moment, simultaneously turning toward the parlor as if they anticipated Lorelai's imminent rescue. Richard smiled uncomfortably as he turned back to Luke. "So, the diner is doing well?" he asked cordially.

"Oh, yeah, yeah. No matter what the economic climate, people gotta eat."

"The restaurant industry is a notoriously fickle business, though," Richard said gravely.

Luke nodded his acknowledgement. "Well, I'm pretty established now. Plus, this is a small town, not very many options. About the only places to get decent tasting food are here and my place, and we serve pretty different menus, so it works out."

"I'm sure it does," Richard answered disinterestedly as he turned toward the parlor again.

Luke bristled a little, reaching out to fiddle with the salt cellar. "I do pretty well, in fact," he said quietly. "Bought a commercial property a few years ago, made an investment or two," he said a little louder, smiling a bit when he saw that his statement had captured Richard's attention.

"Ah, well good for you. It's important to diversify," Richard told him as he turned back and granted Luke a little more his attention. He glanced up as the waiter cleared his plate, and then motioned for the young man to take Lorelai's away too. "What type of investments?" he asked.

"Oh, um, just a local business," Luke answered quickly.

"Well, it's important to support your local economic base. More businesses coming into Stars Hollow means more jobs, and jobs mean families, and families do like to eat," Richard concluded. "Speaking of eating, I was about to order dessert. Would you care to join me while we wait for Lorelai to return from harvesting the mint needed to produce these elusive pillow mints?"

"Oh no. No, thank you."

"Really, I insist," Richard said as he signaled to the waiter. He looked up at the young man and said, "I would love to sample Sookie's chocolate strawberry shortcake. Extra whipped cream, please. And coffee," he added.

"That's where she gets that from," Luke mumbled under his breath.

Richard smiled, letting Luke know that he had indeed caught his comment. "And Luke? What will you have?"

"Oh, seriously, nothing for me," Luke said as he glanced up and gave Derek an apologetic half-smile.

"Bring him the turtle cheesecake," Richard ordered.

"No, really, I'd…" Luke trailed off as Richard fixed him with the same bland stare that Lorelai used to let him know that she could wait him out. "Um, plain cheesecake. Oh, and water's fine," he told Derek. "I'm not much for desserts," he explained to Richard.

"Oh, well, eat what you like of it," he said easily. He looked around the dining room as he sat back, watching Derek place a steaming cup of coffee in front of him. "She's done a wonderful job here, don't you think?"

"Amazing," Luke agreed readily. "Your daughter is one of the most, uh, amazing women I have ever met."

Richard looked up sharply, studying the younger man with renewed interest. "Yes. Lorelai is very unique."

Luke's eyebrows rose at the descriptor her father had chosen. "She is unique. Smart, talented, determined."

"Oh yes, she is determined," Richard agreed with a chuckle. "She gets that from her mother," he added as he shot Luke a conspiratorial glance.

Luke looked up as Lorelai rushed back into the dining room and then drew up short upon seeing him. "Whoa," she muttered. "Hey. Hi. What are you doing here?" she asked, plastering a smile on her face as she approached the table cautiously.

Before Luke could answer, Richard replied, "Luke came by to see you, and he was kind enough to keep me company while you took care of your mint crisis."

"Is everything okay?" Luke asked as he began to rise from his chair, but then lowered himself when Lorelai waved him back down and quickly reclaimed her spot at the table.

"Oh, yeah, fine. There was a problem, uh, with the, um, wrappers," she said as she carefully spread her napkin over he lap, keeping her eyes carefully averted.

"Luke and I were just saying what a wonderful job you were doing with this place. Attention to detail is important. Running one's own business can be both exhilarating and nerve-wracking," Richard said with a sage nod. He sat back, observing the way that both Lorelai and Luke avoided looking directly at one another.

Lorelai gestured to the empty spot once occupied by her dinner and asked, "Did you make the magic risotto disappear?"

"I'm certain that it was cold, so I had them take it away. Luke and I are having dessert. Would you like to have them bring you another plate?"

"Oh no, I'm fine," Lorelai answered quickly. She spared Luke a quick glance and asked, "Dessert?"

"Just a little," he answered as he opened his hands helplessly.

When Derek reappeared with the coffee pot in hand, Lorelai beamed up at him. "Thank you. Oh, and will you bring some hot water and the selection of teas, too? Thanks." She turned back to Richard, drumming her fingernails lightly on the tablecloth as she tried to think of something to say. "So, Dad, the pork chops were good?"

"Yes. I almost lost my head over them," Richard said as he placed his coffee cup back on the saucer and spared Luke a small smile.

Lorelai reared back as she blinked rapidly. "Wow. Did you two form a club while I was gone?" she asked as she looked from Luke to her father suspiciously.

"I told him about the sign," Luke answered quietly, nodding his thanks as Derek placed a small pot of hot water, a cup and saucer and a selection of teas on front of him.

"Did you tell him that the pork chop was dancing?" she pressed, smiling as she saw him inspect each packet of tea before choosing the one she made sure that the inn stocked especially for him.

"I believe that he mentioned that," Richard answered, watching the seemingly practiced interplay between his daughter and this man that had suddenly appeared at his table that night.

"It's an integral part of the décor at Luke's," Lorelai said with mock solemnity.

They fell silent once more as Luke poured hot water over his tea and left it to steep.

"Ah, wonderful," Richard said, looking up with a pleased smile as Derek presented his dessert.

Luke scowled at the insanely enormous slice of plain cheesecake that was placed before him and Lorelai couldn't suppress a snicker. "Ten bucks says that you can't eat all of that," she said with a wicked grin.

"I'll just pay you now," Luke grumbled as he turned the plate, eying the dessert incredulously.

Lorelai gave his forearm an absent pat as she turned in her seat and caught Derek's attention. "Hey, would you bring me another dessert plate and a vat of chocolate syrup? Oh, and throw in some caramel too and your tip will be huge," she added with a broad wink as the young man began to walk away. She turned back to Luke and said, "Help is on the way."

"Thanks."

"Luke was telling me a little about his diner. It sounds like a very successful enterprise," Richard said as he dug into his dessert with relish.

"Oh, yeah, Luke's is a staple in this town. Everybody goes there. Some of us multiple times a day," Lorelai said as she lifted her coffee cup to take a sip.

"Have you put much thought into franchising?" Richard inquired abruptly.

Luke's fork froze halfway to his mouth, the tiny bite of cheesecake he had gathered, teetering precariously on its tines. "Franchising?""Well, if that diner of yours is as successful as the two of you say, it would be the next step. Now is the time to jump, there are opportunities abounding in real estate," Richard said with a firm nod."Er, well, no, I haven't, Mr. Gilmore," Luke admitted as he lowered the fork back to the plate.

"Richard," he corrected blithely. "If I were you, I'd concentrate on the eastern seaboard, first. Connecticut, New York, Massachusetts," he listed. "I'd start with, uh, five to seven," Richard persisted, ignoring the unladylike way his daughter was gaping at him."Diners?" Luke asked in a stunned tone.

"Dad, I don't think Luke is interested in franchising his diner," Lorelai said, jumping in to rescue him."Luke seems like a man with some foresight. A handful of diners would be manageable," he argued. Richard turned back to Luke and said, "You'll need an investment banker. I just ran into Herb Smith at the club. Best banker in the business, I'll give him your number," he promised.

"Uh, thank you," Luke said gruffly. He glanced up as Derek placed an empty plate and two gravy boats loaded with chocolate and caramel on the table in front of Lorelai. "Thank you," he said to the waiter, relief evident in his voice.

"Thank _you_," Lorelai said to Luke in an overly jovial tone as she reached for his plate without asking. "You are such a good friend."

Richard saw Luke stiffen as she transferred all about two or three bites of cheesecake to the other plate, and then wordlessly handed the tiny portion back to him before drowning hers in a sea of sweet sauces. He decided to push a little further. "So then, Luke, once the first seven are a go; shoot for the moon. National expansion." He bit back a knowing smirk as both of their heads jerked up and two sets of blue focused on him intently. "Set up a public corporation, issue an I.P.O."Luke's brow furrowed as once again, he lowered the same uneaten bite of cheesecake to his plate. "Yeah, sure. An I.P.O. Gotta set up one of those," he mumbled.

"So, Mom and Rory will be home tomorrow, huh?" Lorelai said a tad too forcefully, abruptly cutting off the franchise conversation. "That'll be nice. Having them back."

Richard shifted uncomfortably in his seat and returned his attention to his dessert, the man sitting at his table almost completely forgotten. "Yes, they are flying home tomorrow, but they plan to stay in New York for a night."

"Right," Lorelai confirmed with a nod. "I bet that you're looking forward to having Mom back. You know, get things back in order," Lorelai said pointedly.

As Richard focused intently on spearing a plump, ripe strawberry, Luke shot Lorelai a warning glance, which she returned with a pointed glare.

Luke cleared his throat slightly and asked, "Do you follow baseball, Richard?"

Richard looked up as if he had forgotten anyone else was at the table. "Me? Baseball? No, not really. Golf is more my game," he answered slowly. "Do you play?"

"Oh, not very often," Luke answered, deliberately ignoring the acrobatics Lorelai was doing with her eyes.

They lapsed into silence, and Luke finally managed to consume the single bite of cheesecake he had long been toying with. Richard placed his fork on his plate as he reached for his coffee. "Which team do you follow?" he asked, striving for a pleasant, neutral tone.

"Red Sox," Lorelai answered just as Luke replied, "Boston."

When Richard lifted his eyebrows, Luke shrugged and said, "The Boston Red Sox."

Richard frowned as he set his cup down and laced his fingers together. "I believe I heard that they were supposed to have a good team this year. Of course, as a true Boston fan, I'm sure you don't have your hopes up too high, do you?"

"Who likes my dress? It's new," Lorelai announced brightly.

"No, my hopes aren't too high," Luke answered with a slight chuckle as he gave Lorelai a puzzled look.

"Do you drink scotch, Luke?" Richard asked, the conversation swerving sharply again.

"What?"

"Scotch. Do you like scotch?" Richard repeated slowly.

"Because scotch and baseball, they go hand in hand, you know," Lorelai mumbled as she stabbed the cheesecake with her fork.

Luke rolled his eyes and then said, "No, not really. I'm more of a beer guy."

"I see," Richard said as he gazed at Luke appraisingly. A small smile of triumph curved his lips as he saw the younger man's ears flush bright pink. He picked up his fork and said, "Too bad. A client of mine just sent me a case of wonderfully smooth 18 year old single malt. I could have sent you a bottle."

"Speaking of smooth eighteen year olds, did I tell you guys that the new delivery driver Pete hired slips me free cheesy bread on the side?" Lorelai blurted. "I may have to check his driver's license to verify his age, but how's a girl supposed to resist a guy with so much to offer?" she joked lamely, trying to shrug off their stares of disbelief.

And awkward silence enveloped he table. "I've interrupted your dinner for long enough. I should get back to the diner," Luke said quietly as he placed his napkin on the table and pushed his chair back a bit too forcefully.

"You have to go?" Lorelai asked, struggling to keep the plea from her voice.

"Oh, that is too bad. But, business is business, isn't it?" Richard said as he glanced up. "Perhaps you'd like to play a round of golf sometime. I can introduce you to Herb and you can pick his brain about those franchises of yours," he said as he offered his hand once more, this time, paying closer attention to the younger man's grip.

"Uh, okay, that would be fine," Luke said with a nod, anxious to escape, but refusing to back down.

"Wonderful. Say, didn't you have something that you needed to speak to Lorelai about?" he asked innocently as he released Luke's hand. "Would you like me to excuse myself?"

"Oh, uh, no. No." Luke cupped the back of his neck and rubbed gently as he turned to Lorelai and stared at her imploringly. "I was just gonna tell you that, um, we don't have to, you know, have that meeting about the thing."

"The thing?" Lorelai asked with a perplexed frown.

"The thing about the town thing."

"Oh! The town thing," Lorelai said with an enthusiastic nod. "No meeting?"

"No. I'm just gonna, uh, I'll figure it out," he told her.

"O-okay," she stammered.

"I'll see you later, Lorelai. Nice to see you again, Mr. Gilmore."

"Richard."

"Richard," Luke said with a brisk nod, and then quickly strode from the dining room.

Fidgeting under her father's steady gaze, Lorelai looked down at the half eaten cheesecake on her plate. "So, that was nice. Luke doesn't come by here all that often."

"Yes." Richard answered agreeably as he picked up his fork. "You've known one another for quite some time haven't you?"

"Oh yeah. Years."

"You should encourage him to look into the franchise opportunities."

"Luke doesn't want to franchise his diner, Dad," Lorelai said flatly.

"It could be a wonderful thing for him. Look at the number of former restaurateurs who are practically household names these days," he pointed out.

"That's not Luke. Luke hardly likes for his name to be spoken aloud, so I'm pretty sure he won't be hawking pancake mix on the Food Network."

"Oh, come now, Lorelai. Surely the man has set his sights on something a little higher than owning the local diner in a small town," he scoffed, fixing his daughter with a hard stare. "Has he no greater ambitions? No impetus to do something more with his life?"

Lorelai stiffened; her spine lengthening as she stared back at her father. "So, are you and Mom officially separating or will you go on pretending that you both still live in your house?" she asked, a steely glint lighting her blue eyes.

****

The bells jangled as he barreled through the diner door, barely acknowledging Lane as he plowed past her, and hardly seeing the curious stares that followed him as he disappeared behind the curtain. He took the steps two at a time, and flung open the apartment door; his keys swinging and knocking against the worn wood wildly. He crossed to the refrigerator and yanked it open, groping for a bottle of beer without looking, and then slamming the door so forcefully that the entire appliance rocked. He twisted the cap from the beer and tossed it toward the small kitchen table as he took a good long pull on the icy cold beverage.

"Idiot," he hissed at himself as he lowered the bottle. "Pathetic, spineless moron," he growled as he began to prowl the small apartment restlessly. "Say yes to the goddamn golf, but no to the scotch. At least you would know what to do with the scotch," he complained as he moved over to the bookshelves and began scanning them. "Gee, Mr. Gilmore, I like your daughter an awful lot, and I'd really like to take her to the sock hop. I promise I'll have her home by eleven," he mocked himself mercilessly as his finger bumped from spine to spine.

"Free fucking cheesy bread. I'll bet you get free cheesy bread," he muttered under his breath as he scanned title after title, but failed to locate the one he needed. "Oh Luke, don't be silly. My parents have always dreamed I'd end up living in a converted office over a dumpy, run-down greasy spoon," he answered himself in a high pitched tone.

Giving up on that set of shelves, he moved to the shorter bookcase on what used to be Jess' side of the apartment and began perusing the books and assorted ledgers that he had moved over there. He bent over, dropping his head forward in defeat before turning to look at the titles on the second shelf. "Well, fix me up, Herb. I'll be the next goddamn Colonel Sanders. No, fried chicken isn't my thing. I'll be the next fucking Ronald McDonald."

The phone rang, startling him from his tirade. He stumbled over his own feet as he turned to go answer it, and then glared down at the seldom worn wingtips. "If the clown shoes fit," he muttered as he crossed the apartment.

His machine clicked after the second ring, and he slowly lowered his hand to his side, his eyes fixed on tiny speaker as his own voice filled the room. "Luke? Luke are you there?" Lorelai asked in an urgent tone. She waited a few seconds and then rushed on, "Hey, where are you? I wasn't sure what all that was, and I wasn't sure if you meant what I thought you meant about the meeting about the town thing. Maybe you went to my house," she mused. "Well, I guess I'll look for you there…"

Luke snatched up the phone and said, "I'm here."

"Oh. Hi."

"Hi."

The silence stretched on too long for her liking, so Lorelai said, "I'm done with dinner. We didn't make it too long after you left," she reported as she climbed into her Jeep.

"Oh."

"Yeah. Me and my dad, it's always a laugh riot," she said dryly, hoping for a chuckle. When he didn't respond right away, she asked, "What were you doing there?"

"Being an idiot."

"What?"

"Nevermind. Sorry I horned in on your dinner."

"Are you kidding? You were the highlight of the night," she said with a rueful laugh.

"Wow. Pretty crappy night, then."

"Well, I don't know about that, there's still a lot of night left," she said encouragingly as she started the car and began to pull out of her usual spot.

"I don't think so," he began.

"No, Luke, seriously. Come over, we can talk about whatever you wanted to talk about. Or we don't have to talk at all. You like it when I don't talk, remember?" she cajoled as she cranked the wheel and headed down the inn's long driveway. "I can think of some things for us to do that don't involve talking at all. Unless you want me to talk. Sometimes, I think you like it when I talk."

"No, not tonight," he said as he ran his hand through his hair and then pressed it to the top of his head, trying to keep from blowing it entirely.

"But… Why?"

"I think I should just stay here tonight."

"Why?"

"Why?" he repeated, his voice rising with his temper. "I have a bed that's been slept in exactly once, that's why! I don't feel like waking up in the dark tomorrow! I'm tired of sneaking through the back door, I can't do it anymore!"

"Uh, okay," Lorelai breathed, taken aback by his vehemence.

"I'm sorry. I can't talk about this right now, okay? I can't do this anymore, Lorelai, it's too hard."

"Too hard?" Lorelai pressed her hand to her throat as she pressed down on the accelerator. "No. Luke, no," she whispered, panic clawing at her throat.

"We'll talk tomorrow or the next day. I just need to cool off a little," he told her.

"I don't want us to cool off," she forged ahead, blowing past her street and heading for the center of town twenty over the insanely low speed limit.

"My head's all screwed up," he admitted as he dropped down onto the couch tiredly. "I don't want to fight."

"Me either. I'm coming up," she told him as she screeched to a halt in front of the diner, and snapped her phone closed.

She juggled her keys, phone and purse as she kicked the door open and climbed from the Jeep. She skirted the hood and trotted across the sidewalk, bursting through the door wild-eyed and breathless. "Hey, Lane," she said without breaking stride as she rushed through the diner headed for the curtain.

"Hey, Lorelai," Lane answered unheard, watching as the curtain swished back into place behind her.

"They fight a lot," Caesar whispered from the kitchen doorway.

Lane rolled her eyes as she deposited the dirty dishes she had cleared into a bin to be washed. "Ya think?" she muttered as she grabbed a rag and headed back into the dining room to wipe down the tables.

Lorelai trotted up the steps, her heels clattering on the landing as she circled the banister and made a beeline for his door. She stepped inside, sucking in a deep breath as she closed the door quietly behind her and turned to face him. "Hi."

"Hey," he answered, jerking his chin in greeting.

"Luke, I'm so sorry about the check, okay?" she said in a rush, dropping her keys, purse and phone to the table as she crossed the room. "I left you a message. Did you get my message?"

Luke shook his head mutely and then turned to look at the flashing red light on his answering machine. "Doesn't matter," he said in a low, soft voice.

"It does. It does matter, because it upset you and I should have thought. I know that you hate it when other people poke their noses into your business, and I, I did that to you, and I'm sorry," she said as she slowly sank down onto the couch next to him.

"I'm not worried about that," he said as he looked down at his thumb worrying the label on his beer.

"Well, what are you worried about?" she asked, tucking her hair behind her ear as she peered at him, willing him to look at her.

"I'm not the guy for you, Lorelai," he said gruffly.

"What? Yes, yes you are!" she protested instantly. "Why would you say that?"

"It's true."

Lorelai pressed her lips together, fighting back the intense burning in her throat as she studied him carefully. "Well if you think that, maybe you're not," she said at last.

Luke licked his lips and then clamped them shut as he nodded slowly and then turned his face away from her, trying to force the knot that had risen in his throat back down into his stomach. "Yeah, I didn't think so," he managed to mumble.

"But I don't think that you get to decide that for me," she said bluntly. "If you've decided that you don't want to be with me anymore, then I'll deal with that, but you don't get to put whatever this is off on me, Luke."

"Put it off on you?" he demanded. "You have called every shot in this relationship, Lorelai."

"That is not true!"

"It is true!" he shot back as he pushed up off of the couch. "You don't want to be seen with me. You don't want anyone to know about us. You're very careful to call me your friend whenever someone is within earshot. You kick me out of bed every morning before the sun comes up so that the neighbors don't see the guy you're sleeping with sneaking out of your house! We can't go to the bookstore for a movie, or God forbid, Al's for some disgusting excuse for food!" he ranted. "I can pay for the pizza, but I can't answer the door. You don't want the so-called boyfriend blowing the free cheesy bread gig you have going on, do you?"

"I don't get free cheesy bread! I was just trying to change the subject!"

"Why? Were you afraid your dad would have to spell scotch for me?"

"Because he was being a snob!"

"By asking me if I drink scotch?"

"By measuring you up. People in their world don't drink beer, Luke, they drink vodka or gin or scotch. Champagne on festive occasions, the appropriate wine with dinner," she said snidely.

"So, you didn't want me to have dinner with you and your dad because you were afraid I'd embarrass you. Maybe I would have cleaned my fingernails with my salad fork; that would have been mortifying," he replied in the same sarcastic tone.

"No! I didn't want you to have dinner with me and my dad because dinner with my dad is excruciating! You have no idea what they're like!"

"No, and I probably never will, because you'll never want them to meet me!" he shouted.

"Why do you want to meet them? They are the kind of people you hate; they embrace everything that you hate. Where was your famous golf course rant tonight, huh? Oh wait, you were too busy plastering your lips to my father's ass!" she yelled.

"Ask yourself why, Lorelai! Why would I do that? I'm desperate! I'm a desperate, pathetic idiot!"

"I don't understand what's going on! I was just trying to protect you!"

"I don't need you to protect me," he hissed between clenched teeth. "I'm a grown man. I've dealt with all sorts of people in my life, Lorelai. Rich, poor, snobby, proud. I can handle it.""But…"

"You trying to protect me makes me look weak, and I don't want to look weak. I'm not weak!""I know you're not weak!"

Luke stared at her, the beer bottle dangling from his limp fingers as he stared at her flushed cheeks and feverish eyes. "You make me weak," he concluded at last.

"What?" she whispered, stunned by the quiet conviction in his voice.

"You've always been my weakness," he said as he placed the bottle gently on the coffee table and moved to the windows. He gazed out at the late evening summer dusk. "I don't know what to do about it."

"Wow. When we screw up, we go big, don't we?" she asked as she rose from the couch and walked over to him. She placed her hands on his arms and leaned her forehead into his back, ignoring the way he stiffened at her touch, absorbing the heat that rose off of him in waves. "Luke, I'm not ashamed of you. I just wanted to protect you, protect this," she said softly. "I know you hate it when people talk about you, and people will talk, Luke."

"Yeah."

"And, I don't know, I like having you all to myself. I like that we don't have to worry about Babette calling Patty each time we have a spat, or East Side Tillie giving the latest rundown to the _Stars Hollow Gazette_. I thought that was what you would want too," she quietly explained.

"I don't know what I want."

"You don't?" she asked as she took a step back and lowered her hands from his arms. "Does that mean that you don't want this? Want us?"

"Lorelai, I've wanted us for eight years," he said flatly.

Lorelai nodded as she took another step back and crossed her arms over her chest, squeezing her elbows tightly. "And now that you've got it, it's not so hot, huh?" She turned and walked toward the table. "Sorry that I've turned out to be such a disappointment. I should have sat you down with my parents sooner, they could have filled you in, saved us both a lot of trouble," she said, her voice choked with tears of anger and disappointment as she gathered her purse, phone and keys.

Luke turned to face her, his expression blank as he said, "I'm not disappointed."

"Sure sounds that way," she said as she walked to the door.

"I'm confused," he admitted. Lorelai stopped and turned, her hand grasping the doorknob in a death grip. "You only wanted to keep things quiet because you thought I would want to keep things quiet?" he asked.

Lorelai nodded and then shrugged. "Well, yeah, mostly. I mean, a part of me wasn't looking forward to bumping Rory off the front page. I think we Gilmores have fulfilled our gossip producing quota for the year." When he took a step toward her, she ducked her head and said, "Thank God for Jerry Cutler and Miss Magnolia Blossom."

"So, you thought that you had to protect me," he stated calmly.

"And me," she admitted. "Luke, my daughter just had an affair with a married man that basically broke up a marriage. You just got divorced about five minutes ago. You have to admit, it wouldn't have been much of a stretch."

"No."

"But I will tell you this," she said as she raised her chin defiantly. "If I could keep you from ever having to deal with my parents, I would. I know that's probably not realistic, but you have to understand, I hate what they do to people." Lorelai pressed her hand to her heart and said, "Me, I can take it. I've been taking it my whole life, but Luke, you don't understand how small they can make you feel. And it hurts, because you know it's not true. You know that they're wrong, but still…"

"Your dad was just saying tonight that you've done a great job with the inn."

"Yeah, but it still won't be good enough. It still won't be what they would choose for me. Don't you see? To them, that alone means that it's wrong."

"It's not wrong. It's yours, you built it, and it's unbelievable."

"And that is why I choose you," she said simply.

Luke crossed the room and stood right in front of her. "Do you? Do you really?" he asked.

"You willingly crashed dinner with my father," she said with a smirk. "You shaved and dressed up. You're wearing man shoes," she said as she gestured to his feet.

"Well, I had a hard time finding ladies shoes that would fit."

"How big of a billboard do you want? Should I rent one of those flashing signs they put out in front of gas stations to advertise the big sale on smokes?"

"No sign necessary," he said as he gently removed her keys and purse from her hand and carried them back to the table.

"You forgot this," Lorelai said as she held up her phone. "Should I alert _Hello_ magazine? I have Babette on speed dial."

Luke took the phone from her and placed it on the table next to her keys. "They'll know when they know."

"I know! You can serve me french toast in the morning, and I'll french kiss you instead of saying 'thank you,' how's that?"

"Nah, that's okay," he said as he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close.

Lorelai looked into his eyes and whispered, "I don't want to make you weak. You make me strong."

Luke shook his head and then brushed his lips over hers in a whisper of a kiss. "You were already strong, Lorelai. You're a goddamn Amazon," he murmured before capturing her lips in an ardent kiss.

Lorelai melted into the kiss; warmed by arms of banded steel wrapped tightly around her, consumed by the heat of his tongue claiming hers. She threaded her fingers through his fine hair, reveling in the passion that flowed through him and into her. When he broke the kiss, she cradled his head in her hand, tilting her own to grant his lips better access to her neck.

"It is a shame about your new bed," she panted as he laved the throbbing pulse in her throat.

"A damn shame," he agreed as he lifted her from her feet and carried her to that bed, his mouth never leaving the sweet curve of her neck.

When he lowered her to her feet beside it, Lorelai reached for the buttons on his crisp blue shirt. "You look so handsome. It was all I could do to keep from crawling into your lap," she whispered to the ceiling.

"Your dad would have liked that," he said with a short chuckle. He raised his head and looked down at her, a sad smile twisting his lips. "They're probably never going to think any different about me."

"I don't give a damn what he likes or what they think. I like you," she said in a throaty voice. "I think you are the perfect guy for me."

"I guess that's all that matters," he said gravely. "Your new dress is really pretty," he said as he untied the knot that held the wrap closed at her waist.

"You like it?" she asked as she freed the last button on his shirt and pushed it from his shoulders impatiently.

Luke glanced down as the dress fell open revealing a matching red lace bra and panty set. "I love it," he answered as the dress slid to the floor, pooling at her feet.

Lorelai stepped out of her shoes. "I went home and changed. If the 'talk' didn't go the way I wanted it to, I planned on hitting you with this," she confessed with a cheeky smile.

"You definitely make me weak," he said as he propelled her back onto the bed. "And strong," he added as he followed her down, kneeling on the edge of the bed as ran his hands possessively over the curve of her waist.

Lorelai gathered his snowy white undershirt in her hands and pulled it up roughly. "You'd better be, I hear I'm an Amazon," she warned.

Luke kissed her deeply and then murmured, "You are."

He pulled away, allowing her to strip the shirt up over his head. Her smile was blinding as she tossed the shirt aside and ran her hands over his chest. She gave his biceps a playful squeeze and said, "You look pretty strong."

Luke flexed his muscles as he leaned down to kiss her again. His moist lips curved into a smile as he pushed up again, looking down into her vivid blue eyes. "I'd better be. I'm in love with you."

"Thank God you said it first," she whispered as she blinked back tears of relief.

"Okay," he said with a short laugh. "First?" he asked breathlessly.

"I was afraid I'd slip up and all I'd have left would be a bright blue baseball cap spinning on the floor."

"I waited until you were half naked, just in case you tried to make a break for the door."

Lorelai smiled as she pulled him down for another kiss, her lips clinging to his as their soft breaths mingled. "I'm not going anywhere. We're in the same boat."

"Yeah?" he asked gruffly.

"Oh yeah," she murmured as she pushed on his shoulder, rolling out from under him and straddling him before he was even fully settled on his back. She reached for the tab on his stiff black belt and pulled it from the loops. "Think you can handle it?"

"I'm gonna do my best to man up," he answered, his eyes crinkling as he smiled up at her and tucked his hands under his head.

"See, now you've gone and gotten all smug," she grumbled as she opened the hooks on his pants and pulled the tab of his zipper.

"Not smug, happy," he corrected.

Lorelai's smile was slow, but sure as she moved down and pulled at the waistband of his pants. "You're about to get a whole lot happier," she told him.

"Not possible, but it can't hurt to try," he replied laconically.

Lorelai lowered her mouth to his throat, nipping teasingly at his adam's apple as she began to kiss her way down his chest. Luke groaned as he felt her tongue glide over his stomach, and raised his hips to allow her to push his pants and briefs down.

Lorelai grinned as she pressed a soft kiss to the tip of his erection, letting her hair trail over him as she worked his pants down his legs. She turned, and yanked his shoes from his feet, letting each one fall to the floor with a heavy 'thunk' before tugging his socks off. She discarded his pants and underwear and then smiled as she rose up onto her knees, straddling his legs. "I guess I didn't need these, after all," she said as she unhooked her bra and tossed it aside.

"They probably would have helped," he assured her.

"I'll keep that in mind." Lorelai shimmied out of her panties, kicking them from her ankle and almost tumbling onto him. Luke laughed, the sound of it warming her through as the color flooded her cheeks. "So much for the big seduction."

"Oh, that works too."

"Good to know," she said softly as she bent down and took him in her mouth.

A low, strangled groan ripped from his chest as he buried his hands in her hair, massaging her scalp gently as his hips jerked from the mattress. Her lips slid slowly down the length of his shaft, her tongue swirled around the very tip of him teasingly before she claimed him again. Luke closed his eyes, giving himself over to the nearly violent sensations that wracked his body.

"Lorelai," he croaked as he coaxed her head up and then slid to her arms.

"Hmm?" she hummed as she released him momentarily to lazily trace the velvety tip of him with her tongue.

"Just Lorelai," he answered as he sat up abruptly and hauled her up over him before rolling over to pin her under his weight.

He made love to her the way he had always wanted to; slowly, deliberately, branding her with his lips, and possessing her with each caress. Steadfast, he found himself impervious to each whimper and every whispered plea. Her urgent demands went unheeded as he proceeded unhurried. And as he buried himself deep inside of her, he gave his heart, body and soul over to her supremely capable hands.

Lorelai sighed softly, flooded with nearly unbearable strength as he moved slowly within her walls. Her hands filled with him, her mouth held his captive, her heart beat against his. When he gasped softly, it was her name that tumbled from his lips. When his body shuddered, it was hers that cushioned each blow.

They laid tangled together, his fingers gliding through hers, her foot stroking his calf. They whispered softly, laughing as they reveled in the even bigger secret they kept wrapped in the cocoon on his plaid sheets. They drifted off to sleep, piles of pillows cushioning her head, her breast pillowing his cheek.

The alarm rang shrilly, shattering the early morning tranquility. Lorelai groaned as Luke rolled over and reached out for it. "Sorry, I forgot to turn the alarm off," he grumbled as he silenced it.

"Bad alarm. Bad, bad alarm," Lorelai mumbled into the stack of pillows trapped under her. Luke rolled onto his back, raising his arm to draw her close to him. Lorelai rolled over, relinquishing her mountain of pillows in favor of the comfort of his chest as she asked, "What time is it?"

"Early," he grumbled as he held her tightly.

"Hate early, must kill early," Lorelai mumbled. Luke kissed the top of her head and settled in to drift back to sleep. "Okay," she said with a sigh. "I gotta get up."

"Why?"

Without opening her eyes, Lorelai said, "Work, inn, buy shoes…" She heaved a huge sigh. "Oh my God, I can't move. I need coffee."

"I don't have coffee up her, it's all downstairs," Luke mumbled sleepily.

Lorelai whimpered and said, "Downstairs." She turned her head and pressed a trail of sleepy kisses to his chest. She sat up and pull the flannel he had discarded the day before free from the blankets tangled at the end of the bed.

"Where are you goin'?" he asked groggily as she slipped her arms into his shirt, but drifted off again with his hand resting on his stomach.

Lorelai hummed under her breath, fumbling with the buttons on his shirt as she stumbled down the steps. She pushed through the curtain and glanced up in surprise to see Kirk, Gypsy and the other patrons staring at her, dumbstruck. She smiled uncomfortably and backed slowly through the curtain, before turning and sprinting back up the steps. The apartment door slammed behind her and Lorelai announced, "Well, I think people are going to know."

****

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in the tantalizing scent of freshly brewed coffee. Breathe out a heavy sigh as you shed your clothes once again. Breathe in as you climb back into the bed covered in sheets that smell like her, like you. Breathe out as you whisper an embarrassed apology. Breathe in as you set the mug aside, your cheeks blooming with color. Breathe out, your breath pushed from your lungs as you pull her back, toppling her to the mattress once more. And as your lips meet, you both breathe in, taking it all in. And then you breathe out, the laughter bubbing up from deep within as you realize that you just don't give a damn what anyone else says or thinks; you know how you feel.


	9. Poised

**Poised**

You don't dare move a muscle.

You sit like a statue and stare out into the abyss thousands of feet below you, wondering what it would feel like if you simply dropped into it. There in the darkness, you wouldn't have to own up to what you have done. If you stepped out into it, you wouldn't feel any more remorse for what you have said. You press your cheek to the tiny rectangle of opportunity and hold yourself as still as stone, because if you don't; you may simply leap. So, you force yourself to look instead, because leaping is what got you into this mess in the first place.

You stand your ground; staking your claim, for you have every right to be just where you are. So, you don't budge. You dig your heels into the plush carpeting and plant yourself, tall and strong like a tree. These are your roots and you fear that if you give an inch, if you cross that threshold, you may never be able to get back to who you were and the place you most want to be with the only person that you ever wanted to be there with.

You push your seat back; slip a mask over your eyes and lie very still, hoping that no one will ever see that behind that mask you are paralyzed by the terror of it all. You hold the mask firmly in place, ignoring all that goes on around you, blocking out the world as visions of your new world order play out against a bleak, black canvas. You block it all out. But, that sleek black mask also blocks the rays of gold that still peek over the western horizon, lightening the dark. Hope is so much like fear that sometimes you simply don't see it coming.

You hang on tight, holding into the slippery coffee pot as you swirl it in the sudsy water, immersing it and yourself in the everyday, because suddenly your every day is different from the days before. It's brighter, happier and simply more than the day before, but you don't trust it entirely. You know better than to think that everything will simply fall into place. The bells ring out and your hands freeze in the steaming hot water and you hold yourself still. That is, until you hear her voice. And then you have to move, because hearing her voice is never quite enough, you need to see her face to believe that it could all be true.

You stand still, feeling his arms wrap around you in the deserted diner, ignoring the stares of the people walking their dogs before heading to bed or taking a run now that the heat of the day has passed. You allow yourself one tiny sigh as you sink into him, relishing the feel of your body pressed to his at the end of a long, busy day. You hold yourself very still, enveloped in the warmth of him, drinking in his strength because you know what he doesn't really know, or doesn't truly believe. It's his strength that makes you stronger.

****

"Hello?" Rory called as she opened the front door.

Lorelai gasped and jumped up from the table. "Kitchen!" she called back, smoothing her hands over her shirt and feeling oddly nervous for a woman standing in her very own house about to greet her very own child.

"Mom!" Rory sighed as she rushed into the room and directly into Lorelai's arms.

"Oh, my traveler," Lorelai murmured as she hugged her baby tightly.

"I missed you," Rory admitted in a muffled voice.

"I missed you, too," Lorelai answered, beaming as Rory pulled away and looked around the kitchen.

"Sookie!" Rory exclaimed as she spotted their friend hovering behind her and grinning at them.

Sookie bounced on the balls of her feet and squealed a little as she pulled Rory into a hug. "You remember who I am!"

The front door closed and Emily called, "Hello!"

"Hi," Lorelai replied, unwilling to move away from her daughter.

"Hello, Lorelai. Hello, Sookie," Emily greeted them brightly as she entered the room.

Sookie waved a little and said, "Hi, Emily."

"Hi, Mom," Lorelai said as she impulsively leaned in to hug her mother.

Emily held up both hands to stop her. "Don't! I smell like airplane."

Rory glanced back over her shoulder and said, "I should go get my bags."

Emily sighed her disappointment and scolded her granddaughter gently. "Rory, you do not touch bags."

Rory frowned in puzzlement at the proclamation. "Oh, I thought that was just a Europe thing."

"The driver's bringing them in." She turned to Lorelai and said, "We had such a trip. Rory will fill you in. Spare her the more salacious aspects," she instructed Rory with an exaggerated shudder.

"Salacious aspects?" Lorelai asked, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

"Those European men. Young, old, in between; they saw us coming," Emily reported nonchalantly.

Sookie frowned as she asked, "They saw you coming where?"

"We were like magnets. Such high libidos," Emily remarked, pursing her lips in disdain.

"You weren't wearing your 'hot and wealthy' sandwich board, were you, Mom?" Lorelai asked with a smirk.

"She was very popular," Rory commented, shooting her mother a warning look.

"Well, I should go," Emily announced. She turned to her daughter as she grasped Rory's shoulders. "I bring you back a charming, cultured, well-mannered young lady. Don't undo it."

Lorelai nodded and said, "I will definitely try not to not undo it."

Emily rolled her eyes. "Well, goodbye, all. Goodbye, Rory."

"Bye, Grandma," Rory answered.

But when she leaned in to hug her grandmother, Emily waved her away too. "Nope. Airplane."

Rory smiled affectionately and said, "Oh, I can take it. Thanks, Grandma," she murmured as she hugged Emily anyway.

"Ciao," Emily murmured and then turned to leave.

When the front door closed behind her, Lorelai urged Rory to take a seat at the kitchen table. "Come here, you."

Rory laughed as her mother prodded her into a seat. "So, what are you guys doing home?"

"We're trying to get some distance from the inn," Lorelai answered with a shrug.

"And it's going through the roof!" Sookie said excitedly. "Not the inn's roof, that's solid as a rock," she amended quickly. "You know what I mean. We're booked to 90% capacity. And the restaurant - we're turning people away. Oh, you know all that," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand.

"No, keep going," Rory urged.

"Well, customers agree that, despite Michel, we're their favorite Connecticut inn," Sookie reported with a dimpled smile. "But enough of that, we need distance. Boy, did you pick the wrong summer to travel; there have been some big happenings in this town!" Sookie crowed.

"Oh really? Like what?" Rory asked, intrigued.

"Sookie! You're exploding all over the poor girl," Lorelai jumped in.

"Oh. You're right, I'm sorry," Sookie apologized quickly.

"Didn't you say that you had to pick up Davy?" Lorelai asked with a pointed look.

"Oh! Oh, yeah, I did. I have to go," Sookie said as she scrambled from her chair.

"We'll call you later," Lorelai promised.

"Okay." She gathered her bag and gave Rory another quick hug. "Glad you're home."

"Yeah, me too," Rory answered.

"Okay, well, I'll talk to you later," Sookie called as she waved to them with both hands and then hurried for the door.

When she was gone, Rory turned to Lorelai and said, "I see your subtlety hasn't improved."

"I just wasn't sure if you'd be ready to dive right into town gossip," Lorelai said as she held her palms up in a gesture of helplessness.

Rory sighted as she pushed herself from her chair. "I'm not," she admitted as she walked into the foyer and grabbed the handle on her suitcase.

"Are you gonna unpack now?" Lorelai asked.

Rory hesitated just inside her bedroom door. She stared hard at her single bed and then turned back to Lorelai. "Can we not talk about it now?" she asked quietly. "I mean, we'll talk, but just not right now. I just want to be home for a little while."

"Sure," Lorelai answered with a sympathetic smile.

"I have presents," Rory announced as she dropped the suitcase to the floor.

"Oh, well why didn't you say so," Lorelai said as she jumped up and rushed into Rory's room. "Presents for me?" she asked coyly.

Rory finished unzipping the case and looked up, her face perfectly blank. "Oh. You wanted me to bring something for you?" When Lorelai gasped, Rory grinned and pulled a brightly colored Pucci inspired date planner from the corner of the suitcase. "Here, I thought this might come in handy."

"Ooh! Pucci me, baby!" Lorelai said as she plucked it greedily from Rory's hand.

"There's some other stuff in here, but I will have to dig it out."

She flipped the book open and then closed it with a thunk before clutching it to her heart. "You had a good time?" she asked cautiously.

Rory nodded as she pulled a few more items from the suitcase and piled them on her bed. "It wasn't as fun as last summer, but it was nice."

Lorelai cocked her head and studied her daughter's carefully averted gaze. "And are you feeling any, uh, better about things?" she asked cautiously.

Rory gathered an armload of clothing and shrugged slightly. "I think I'm going to start a load of whites," she said as she marched from the room.

"There might be some stuff in there," Lorelai told her, frowning as she tried to recall when she had run the last load of laundry.

"Washer's clear," Rory reported as she added detergent to the tub and twisted the dials.

"Good," Lorelai said as she hovered in the back doorway.

Rory bent down and pulled the dryer door open to check, and pulled back abruptly as a sleeve of a flannel shirt tumbled out of the jam-packed drum. She pinched it daintily between her thumb and forefinger and pulled it from the dryer, holding it up as she turned slowly toward Lorelai, and struggled to keep from laughing at the wide-eyed panic on Lorelai's face.

"I wonder who this could belong to," Rory murmured as she arched an eyebrow at her mother.

A nervous laugh escaped Lorelai's lips as she reached out and snatched the flannel from Rory's fingers; pressing it to her heart just as she had done with the book.

Rory grinned. "Mom? Why is Luke's shirt in our dryer?"

"Um, his dryer died?"

"Really? Luke couldn't fix his own dryer even though he has fixed our dozens of times?"

"I was letting him wash his clothes here as a reward for fixing the dryer?" Lorelai tried.

"And he decided to be nice and throw a few of your things in too?" Rory asked as she pulled a pink B-52s t-shirt from the same load.

"That's Luke's," Lorelai answered quickly.

"I bet he looks adorable in it. Are these his too?" Rory she asked as she held up a pair of lacy black panties.

"Um, yes?"

Rory gestured to the open dryer and asked, "Are you going to fess up, or do I need to keep going?"

Lorelai smirked and said, "Keep going and you may find some things you don't want to find in there."

Rory jumped back from the dryer and then glared at it. "Are Luke's underpants in our dryer?" she demanded.

Lorelai shrugged as she scooted past Rory to pull the laundry from the drum and dropped it into a basket to be folded later. She hefted the basket onto her hip and dropped the shirt and planner on top of it as she shrugged and mumbled, "It's entirely possible," and then hurried back into the house.

"You come back here, young lady," Rory cried as she ran after her. She caught up to Lorelai at the steps and reached for her elbow. "Mom?" she asked softening her tone. "You and Luke?"

Lorelai turned to look at Rory, her cheeks flaming pink, but her smile wide and her eyes sparkling. "Me and Luke," she confirmed, her gaze dropping to the flannel shirt that covered most of the rest of the laundry beneath.

"Wow," Rory breathed.

"Is that… How do you feel about that?" Lorelai asked cautiously.

Rory studied Lorelai for a moment and then asked, "Are you happy? You sound happy."

"I am, kid," Lorelai said with an irrepressible smile.

"Tell me everything," Rory demanded as she prodded Lorelai up the steps. "Well, not everything, and if there are underpants in that basket, I never want to see them, capisce?"

****

Emily stood at the front door rummaging through her handbag for her key as the driver unloaded her luggage. With a frustrated sigh, she gave up and pressed the doorbell. "Shriva! I can't find my key," she called through the door.

Moments later, the door swung open and a man in a dark serge suit inquired, "May I help you?"

Emily gaped at the man for a moment, and then demanded, "Who are you?"

Richard's valet watched as the driver pulled a Louis Vuitton steamer trunk from the depths of the limousine. "I am Robert, madam, Mr. Gilmore's valet. You must be Mrs. Gilmore. Mr. Gilmore said that we would be expecting you today," he acknowledged as he stepped back to allow her entrance with a dignified nod of his head.

"I am Emily Gilmore," she answered stiffly. "Valet? Where is Shriva?" she asked brusquely as she rushed into the foyer, her gaze sweeping the entryway for signs of any other unapproved changes.

"I'm afraid I don't know, madam. I am the only member of the staff on hand at the moment. Anna-Maria, the young lady who has been coming in to do the housekeeping won't be in until tomorrow," he informed her.

Emily stared at the man before her as if he had grown a second head. When Robert returned her gaze impassively, Emily huffed, "Is Mr. Gilmore in the pool house?"

"No, madam, he is in his study," Robert replied as he nodded to the closed door.

Emily slammed her purse down on the hall table and walked purposefully to Richard's study. Without knocking, she flung the door open and demanded, "What are you doing here?"

Richard looked up from the paperwork spread across his desk and slowly removed his reading glasses. "Why, I live here, Emily," he replied mildly.

Emily stared at him incredulously, and then glanced toward the foyer. She closed the study door carefully and then whirled to face her husband. "We agreed that you would move into the pool house before I arrived home! And where is Shriva?"

"I agreed to do no such thing, Emily," Richard said mildly as he rose from his chair. "Shriva didn't work out. It seemed that it was time for her to go. How was your flight? I trust that Rory had an enjoyable trip?" he inquired pleasantly.

"Don't you ask me how my trip was!" she spat. "You are not supposed to be here!"

"On the contrary, this is exactly where I belong. I saw no reason to change that."

Emily gaped at him for a moment. "Richard, we are separated," she began, speaking very slowly and distinctly. "That means that we do not reside under the same roof!" she explained, her voice rising with each carefully enunciated word.

"Come now, Emily," Richard began as he walked toward her.

Emily threw up both hands to halt his progress as she stepped back. "Have you lost what little sense God gave you?"

"Emily," he said in a warning tone, his carefully practiced patience already wearing thin.

"Do you really think that I would allow you to stay here?"

"You cannot evict me," he said stubbornly. He tamped down his anger, keeping it firmly at bay as he saw the sheer panic in her brown eyes. Oddly, it gave him hope. And courage.

"Richard, this is my house. Mine!" she hissed.

"No, Emily, it is our house, and I would like for us to continue to share our house."

Emily's eyes widened. "No," she said emphatically.

"Yes," he countered.

"I'll go back to the hotel!" she threatened.

"If that is what you would like to do, then by all means, do so," he said courteously.

"I do not want to go back to that hotel!" she shouted.

"Then you should stay here."

"You should go! You're the one who started this whole fiasco!"

"I started nothing."

"How is Lynnie Lott, Richard?" she sneered.

"I haven't the faintest idea. I haven't seen her since our annual lunch," Richard replied calmly.

"You admit that you've been seeing her!"

Richard sighed as his hand tightened around his reading glasses. "Emily, I admitted having lunch with Pennilyn a long time ago."

"Only after you were caught! You only admitted it once your philandering became apparent not only to me, but to your daughter and granddaughter!"

"I have never, from the moment that I met you, been unfaithful to you, Emily," Richard stated firmly.

"Perhaps not technically," she said derisively.

"I don't believe that is a subject that is open to interpretation."

"That's where you are wrong. You may not have been… intimate with her, but you stopped being faithful to me the moment that you chose to deceive me," she said in an unyielding tone.

"I simply chose not to tell you something that I thought would make you uncomfortable, and I was correct."

"Uncomfortable?" Emily scoffed.

"Yes. Pennilyn and I have a history, Emily, but I chose you. One would think that she would be the one who would take issue with that," he said as he returned to his leather desk chair and sat down, looking up at her patiently.

"One of us has to leave," Emily insisted.

"I see no reason for that. This house is far too large for the two of us as it is," Richard commented mildly.

Emily pressed her lips together, trying to hold back the anger and frustration that seethed inside of her. "I'll have that man take my things to the blue room."

"You should stay in our room." Richard stood up and circled his desk once more. "I'll tell Robert."

"Yes, you tell Robert," Emily murmured as Richard left the room. She sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm her racing pulse as she scanned the dark, masculine room that she herself had transformed into his sanctuary. "What kind of a man has a valet, anyway?" she muttered as she turned and quickly escaped from his domain.

****

"Hey," Luke said as he stepped out of the kitchen holding the coffee pot in one hand and a plate in the other.

"Hi, Doll," Lorelai answered as she stood still; waiting patiently to see if he would repeat the tiny peck she had managed to coax out of him the day before.

Luke pressed his lips to her briefly, and she smiled as she saw the tips of his ears turn bright pink. "I'll be right back," he promised as he hurried to the corner table.

Lorelai smiled as she climbed onto her usual stool.

"Aw, look at you two," Patty cooed as she pressed her hand to her heart. "I'm so happy for you."

"Really? You didn't seem so happy last night when you helped Taylor ambush us," Luke grumbled as he passed her table.

"He's just mad because you went pink, Patty," Lorelai said with a grin, her eyes following Luke as he skirted the end of the counter.

"Well, if it helps, I was torn. I've known Luke since he was a boy, but I admit, I still feel bad about the yoga incident," Patty confessed. "I told Taylor that I wanted to be purple, but he told me that I had to choose. The fact that Lorelai didn't sue me over a broken leg outweighed my love for your BLT's by just this much," she told Luke and she held her thumb and forefinger only millimeters apart.

"Oh damn," he muttered under his breath as he poured Lorelai a mug of coffee.

"How do you know I don't need that to go?" she asked teasingly as he slid the mug in front of her.

"You want it to go?" he asked with a frown, reaching for a carry out cup.

"You want me to stay?" Lorelai replied with a flirty smile.

Luke rolled his eyes but placed the paper cup back on the stack next to the coffee maker. "What are you doing here anyway? Shouldn't you be home waiting for, uh, you-know-who to come home?" he asked in a low voice.

"You-know-who is home. She went over to Lane's for a little while and then I'm meeting her at Al's," Lorelai said with a nod.

"Rory's home?" Patty asked, making it clear that she had been listening to their conversation.

When Lorelai nodded, Luke shot Patty as quelling look; pinning the older woman to her chair with his glare. "Al's?"

"Well, she can't come in here," Lorelai scoffed.

"She can't? Why not?"

Lorelai glanced over her shoulder at Patty and then motioned him closer. "There may or may not have been an incident involving a pair of your underwear," she whispered in his ear.

"My un…" he gasped, cutting himself off and then grasping her wrist as Lorelai reached to cover his mouth with her hand.

"Oh my! It's almost time for my two o'clock Sweatin' to the Oldies class," Patty said as she pushed from her chair. She dropped a few bills on the counter as she sailed past and called, "Tell Rory hello for me, dear!" as the bells rang out.

Luke shrugged as he released her hand and said, "Sorry, I was going for the subtle and missed."

"It's okay."

"Now, what about my underwear? Why do you have my underwear, and why was Rory anywhere near it?"

"Well, apparently you left a pair at my house. A shirt too," Lorelai told him. "The shirt I knew about, but the underpants got mixed in with my stuff. When Rory went to start a load, she opened the dryer and your shirt was there."

"What did she say?" he asked in a low, deep voice; his fidgeting fingers giving away his nervousness.

Lorelai smiled as she covered his hand with one of hers, stilling it. "She's happy that we're happy," she assured him.

"Really?"

"Yeah."

Luke's smile creased his face, etching the dimples that bracketed his mouth a little deeper. "Good."

"Don't smile like that," Lorelai said in a hushed, urgent tone.

"Like what?"

"Like that."

Luke schooled his features into a stern frown and asked, "Better?"

Lorelai's smile grew as she gave his hand a slight squeeze and then leaned in to whisper, "No. And now that smile isn't going to help me stop trying to figure out which morning you walked home commando."

"Lorelai," Luke groaned as he yanked his hand out from under hers.

"Anyway, she can't come in here because she accidentally saw me folding your underpants," she said with a shrug.

"Uh huh, accidentally," he grunted as he turned away.

"And apparently I folded them with far too much care," she added, waggling her eyebrows at him. "Do you want to have dinner with us tonight?"

Luke looked back at her over his shoulder. "Do you want me to?" he asked as he turned slowly.

Lorelai shrugged and said, "You can if you want. I mean, it is Moroccan night at Al's, and underpants notwithstanding, you're gonna see each other sometime, right?"

Luke colored slightly as he looked down, and then back up at her from under his lashes. "You guys need to catch up, watch movies, you know, do what you normally do. Come in for breakfast tomorrow," he said gruffly.

"Are you sure? I don't want you to think that…"

"I won't…"

"You'll call me later?" she asked as she slid from her stool.

"You bet." Luke reached for a to-go cup again, and held it up with a questioning lift of his eyebrow.

"Yes, please. Two," she added quickly as he began to pour.

Once the lids were in place, he carried them to the other side of the counter but held onto the cups as she reached for them. Lorelai laughed as she tipped her head up and kissed him softly. "We'll get better at this," she said softly.

"I think it's already pretty damn good," Luke answered as he relinquished the coffee. He leaned in close as he reached for the door handle and said, "The first night."

"What?"

"I couldn't find them the morning after the first night I stayed there. You need to do laundry more often. Or at least clean that crap off of your floor."

"I did. They must have been in the pile I shoved into the closet." Lorelai smiled impishly and said, "Why should I do laundry as long as the clean underwear holds out? I can go almost two full months now, but sometimes I just go for the breeze," she added with a saucy wink.

And with that, she hurried down the steps, turning back to get one last peek at his stunned face before she took off in the direction of Al's Pancake World. Luke shook his head to clear it and then saw Rory cross the street to the square just as Lorelai stepped onto the curb. They met on the sidewalk and began chattering away as they headed for the gazebo. He grabbed a rag and began to wipe down tables, glancing up every few seconds to see if he could still catch a glimpse of her. He stopped wiping as his brain registered the fact that the two blonde women she and Rory were talking to near the gazebo were Lindsay and her mother.

"Aw, crap," he muttered as he abandoned the towel on the table and hurried to the door.

**

"You! You should be ashamed of yourself, what you did!" Teresa Lister hissed as she spotted Lorelai and Rory approaching.

"Just wait," Lorelai said quickly, trying to diffuse the situation before it flared.

"What did she ever do to you, huh? How did she hurt you? Why are you doing this?" Teresa demanded as she glared at Rory.

"Theresa, please. Calm down," Lorelai implored.

Ignoring Lorelai completely, Mrs. Lister focused on Rory, her voice rising with every word as Lindsay cringed behind her. "Calm down? My little girl has to come home and find your heinous letter in Dean's pocket!"

"Listen, we're in the street…" Lorelai tried again.

"You little monster!"

Lorelai immediately bowed up. "Hey! Pull back, lady!"

"There aren't hundreds of other boys in the world? You have to go after her husband?" Teresa continued, undeterred.

"Okay, stop attacking my daughter right now. You're upset, I get it, but you do not do this."

"She slept with my son-in-law. She broke up a marriage. Are you proud?"

"She did not break up a marriage," Lorelai said defensively.

"What do you know of this?" Teresa sneered.

"Enough. I know Rory," Lorelai stated unequivocally.

"And everyone knows that you must approve of this behavior. After all, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, does it?"

"What?" Lorelai gasped.

"Don't think that we all haven't noticed how quickly you snapped Luke up once his divorce was final. Makes me wonder if it was even final at all," Teresa said cattily.

"Hey! You know nothing about me, or my daughter, or Luke," Lorelai spat.

"I know that children learn from their parents. I know that my Lindsay is devastated, Dean is back with his parents, lives are destroyed, and you and your daughter can go to hell!" Teresa shouted as she grabbed Lindsay's arm and dragged her away from the gazebo.

**

Luke stood on the steps for a moment, watching as Lorelai took a step closer to Teresa, placing herself between Rory and Lindsay's mother as Lindsay cringed and Rory tried to hide her face from the passersby. Luke couldn't hear what was being said, but judging by their body language and the stunned looks of the people scurrying away from the gazebo, it was nothing good. Without thinking, he walked down the steps and then made it all the way to the curb before catching himself.

With a resigned sigh, he crossed his arms over his chest, resisting the urge to bolt across the street, bump Lorelai from her spot, and place himself directly in the line of fire in her stead. He looked up and saw Patty lounging in the open doorway of her studio, watching with avid interest as she puffed on her cigarette. The older woman must have felt his stare because she glanced only briefly in his direction, before ducking quickly back into the studio. Luke smirked, satisfied that he had done what he could, and then turned back to the gazebo in time to see Lorelai staring at him, her mouth agape with shock.

Their eyes met and held for a moment, and then Lorelai looked away as she took Rory's arm and led her from the square.

****

Emily sat at her writing desk sorting through the accumulated invitations they had received while she was away. Richard had not stepped foot out of his study since their earlier conversation, and Emily found herself torn between relief and annoyance. She peered into her empty coffee cup and sighed as she stood up, carrying the cup and saucer into the kitchen for a refill. She jumped, startled by the presence of a man in her kitchen, and eyed Robert warily as she made her way to the coffee pot.

Robert nodded to her politely, and then continued to polish the silver tea service he had laid out on the work surface. Emily turned, taking a dainty sip from her cup as she surveyed his technique critically, but could offer no valid suggestion for improvement. "Lovely, isn't it?"

"Yes, madam."

"It was a wedding gift, from my grandmother. It means a great deal to me, so I like to see it kept up."

"Yes, madam," Robert replied with particular economy of words.

Emily sighed and carried her cup and saucer back to the living room, making a mental note to contact the agency in the morning for a list of suitable candidates. _If Richard wants to keep his valet, he can keep him in his study,_ she decided with a smirk.

"Oh," she murmured as she turned into the living room and spotted Richard standing at her desk flipping through the stack of embossed invitations. When he looked up, she pursed her lips and said, "I suppose that we should decide which one of us will attend each function."

"Which one?"

"I think that we can divide and conquer, so to speak," Emily said brusquely. "If you'll bring your calendar into the dining room, we can make the decisions now, and I can respond tomorrow."

Richard nodded once and said, "Very well. I'll be right there, Emily," as he went to his study to retrieve his planner.

Once they were seated at opposite ends of the gleaming dining table, Emily cleared her throat softly and said, "There's the issue of the Gregory's' cocktail party on the fourth. Even though they did miss our Christmas party last year, you are currently involved in a business deal with Hamilton, so one of us should probably attend."

Richard nodded slowly. "Jancy will definitely want you to be there."

"Fine. I'll go," Emily replied as she prepared to note the date in her book.

Richard sighed and said, "No, that's all right. I should go."

"Fine, then you'll go."

"Though I had to go to the Newman's Zoo Auction last week," he complained.

"Fine. Then I'll go."

"No, it's my business. I'll go."

"Fine."

"Unless you would like to go," he offered. "Or perhaps we both should attend."

Emily simply rolled her eyes as she shook her head and reached for the next invitation. "I'll let them know that you'll be coming."

They proceeded through the stack, divvying up the social obligations according to which one had more invested in the people involved with the programs. When they had each noted the important dates, Emily gathered the invitations in her hand and set them aside.

"Moving on to the subject of your car," she said abruptly.

"Excuse me?"

"You parked the Cadillac in the driveway when you worked on it, and it leaked oil all over the place."

"It's a tiny stain, Emily," Richard said impatiently.

"It's a large stain. I saw it as soon as I stepped out of the car this afternoon."

Losing his cool for a moment, Richard asked, "Really? You can see the driveway with your nose way up in the air like that?" When Emily regarded him in stony silence, he sighed and said, "I apologize. That was uncalled for."

"I think you should restrict your cars to their garages at all times," she continued in a businesslike tone.

Richard bristled again. "I will park my cars anywhere I like."

"You never used to leave your cars in the driveway before."

"I park there when I work on them," he explained, gesturing in frustration.

Sensing the widening cracks in his cool, calm demeanor, Emily pushed further. "Well, work on them somewhere else."

"Like where?"

"What about the filling station? It's already filthy there."

"Are you seriously suggesting that I drive a priceless antique car twelve blocks away, park it next to a broken-down Chevy, and do my restoring there?" he demanded.

"Yes."

Richard regarded her impassively, trying to recall why he had wanted her to return in the first place. "So this is the way it's going to be from now on," he said flatly.

Emily peered at him down the length of the table, and then looked away; her gaze coming to rest momentarily on the Waterford bowl filled with blown glass apples the color of blood before she focused on the pen in her hand. "I suppose it is."

His mouth turned down in grim acceptance that the icy knot in his stomach would not be melting in the current icy atmosphere. He studied his wife for a moment and reminded himself he had one thing that Emily did not. "A filling station will be fine," he conceded at last.

"Thank you," she replied, her lips twisting into a small smile of triumph.

_Patience_, Richard counseled himself sternly. "I suppose we should discuss the insurance papers," he said quietly.

"I suppose we should," she answered coolly.

****

"Okay, so we have consumed more Moroccan food than Rick and Ilsa combined, watched two movies that we have both seen a thousand times, not that another viewing of the _Sixteen Candles/Breakfast Club _combo is ever wrong, and successfully avoided the topic for the past eight hours," Lorelai announced as she turned off the TV and shifted on the couch to look at Rory. "Rory, I need to know what's going on, if for no other reason than to work on my snappy comebacks when I'm attacked in the street."

"Nothing is going on," Rory said with a heavy sigh.

"Have you talked to…"

"No."

"Do you plan to…"

"I don't know."

"Talk to me," Lorelai said softly.

"I don't know what I was thinking," Rory confessed. "I was just so, and everyone had someone, and Jess, and he was there, and he loves me," she said haltingly.

"You were confused."

"Yes and no." Rory took a deep breath, twisting her fingers together as she stared down at them. "I knew what I was doing. I knew it was wrong," she confessed. "I did it anyway."

"Okay, well, um, how do you , feel about that? Not the what you did, but the, uh, knowing?" Lorelai stammered.

"I don't feel good," Rory said with a bitter laugh.

"No."

"But there's a part of me, a probably really horrible, incredibly selfish part of me is still glad it was Dean, married or not."

"I think I can see that," Lorelai said carefully. "So, what do you want to happen now?"

Rory turned to look her in the eye and said simply, "I want it all to go away."

Lorelai winced. "Yeah. I think it may be a little too late for that," she said with a sympathetic smile. "You'll just have to tough it out for the rest of the summer. It'll die down."

"I guess so," Rory said with a frown.

"Hey, maybe they'll be too busy trying to figure out if I lured Luke away from Nicole," she suggested hopefully.

Rory snorted. "What was that?"

"That was the way that people with not enough business of their own to mind spend their time."

"Like Luke would do that," Rory said as she shook her head.

Lorelai gasped as her jaw dropped. "And you think I would?"

Rory smiled sadly and pointed to herself and then Lorelai as she said, "Apple, tree."

"Rory! Are you really going with the sins of your mother argument?"

"No," Rory said with a rueful smile. "It would be much easier, though."

Lorelai cocked her head as she studied her daughter. "Rory, you have to know that I never would have been with your dad if I thought that he and Sherry were still going to be together," she said quietly.

"Oh, Mom, I'm sorry," Rory said as she lunged to hug Lorelai. "I know that. I was just, I was crazy," she said brokenly.

Lorelai stroked her baby's silky hair, smoothing it back behind her ears. "It'll be okay. It'll all be okay," she murmured. Lorelai jumped slightly as her cell phone rang in her pocket.

Rory pulled back and swiped at her eyes with her fingertips. "Who could that be, I wonder?" she asked with a weak smile.

Lorelai couldn't hide her own smile as she glanced at the display and said, "I'll call him back in a little bit."

"No, answer it. I think I need a hot shower," Rory said as she stood up.

Not needing to be told twice, Lorelai flipped the phone open and said, "Hey. Can you hang on a sec?" She watched as Rory walked slowly to her room and hesitated in the doorway. "Hon? When you're done, do you wanna watch _Edward Scissorhands_? We can figure out which haircut we'd give Teresa," she offered.

Rory just shook her head and said, "No, I'm pretty wiped out. I think I'll read a little after my shower and try to sleep."

Lorelai nodded, still covering the phone as she stood up and said, "If the jet lag gets you, come and wake me up."

"Night, Mom."

"Night, Sweets," Lorelai said softly. She pressed the phone to her ear as she reached for the lamp and said, "Hi, sorry."

"Do you want me to call back? I can," Luke said anxiously.

"No, we're wrapping it up for the night," Lorelai told him as she headed for the stairs. "Hi. How was your night?"

"Fine, the usual."

Lorelai smiled wanly as she climbed the stairs and said, "No usual tonight."

Luke chuckled softly. "No, I meant the usual for, uh, before."

"Ah, before. Strangely enough, I don't miss those days," she said as she walked into her room and surveyed the standard piles of clothing on the floor.

"Me either." Luke paused for a second and then asked, "What happened out there today?"

"You saw it all, huh?"

"I saw you guys talking, it didn't look good. Is Rory okay?"

Lorelai sighed as she dropped down onto the bed and flopped back on what had become his pillow. "I think she will be."

"I can't believe Teresa did that with all those people around," he said tiredly.

"Well, you know us mama bears and our cubs."

"Yeah."

"I don't blame her. I mean, I kind of do, but I can't say that I wouldn't have done the same thing."

"You think?"

Lorelai shrugged as she wound a lock of hair around her finger. "I may have."

They fell quiet for a moment, listening to one another breathe in and out as the silence stretched between them. Finally, Luke said softly, "I don't know if I'll be able to sleep tonight."

Lorelai's lips curved into a smile. "You wanna climb my tree?"

"Yes."

"Probably not a good idea," she said wistfully.

"No."

"Gonna be a long time until school starts in the fall," she murmured.

"Yeah, it is."

"Are you okay with that?"

"Do you have to ask?"

"I don't know, I mean, we've been pretty holed up," Lorelai said doubtfully.

"Well, we can still see each other, right?" he asked with a frown.

"You mean for dates and stuff?"

"Yeah."

"Of course," Lorelai said with a laugh.

"Well, I didn't know," Luke began defensively.

"And the stuff, we'll just have to, um, figure out," she said teasingly.

"I'm not worried about that," he said quickly.

"You aren't? I am."

Luke laughed softly and admitted, "Okay, I am too."

"We'll see you at breakfast?"

"Yeah."

"Will you have underwear on?" she asked with a grin.

Lorelai could practically hear his smile through the phone. His voice dropped, sending a shiver of anticipation down her spine as he said only, "I might be."

"Tease," she whispered.

"Goodnight, Lorelai."

"Night, Luke," she answered softly. She closed the phone and placed it gently on his pillow, pressing her lips together as she stared at it there, knowing that it would be cold comfort for the long, lonely night ahead.

****

Emily looked up from her book as the bedroom door opened and Richard walked in. "What are you doing here?" she asked, incredulous.

"My Water Pik is in here," he said as he walked through their bedroom to the master bath.

Emily scowled unseeingly at her book as she listened to the familiar sounds of Richard's bedtime preparations. Her frown deepened as he turned out the bathroom light and walked directly to the bureau in his closet, just as he always did. Moments later, he emerged in a pair of pale blue pajamas with navy piping that she had bought for him the previous summer.

When he walked to his side of the bed, she dropped the book and pressed her hand pre-emotively to his pillows. "Richard Gilmore, what do you think you are doing?" she demanded.

"I'm going to bed, Emily," he replied as he placed his wristwatch on the nightstand and double checked the alarm clock to be sure it was set.

Emily sat straight up in bed as she glared at him. "You said that I could have this room!"

"Yes, I did," he replied calmly as he pulled back the covers.

"You think that I am going to sleep in this bed with you?"

"Well, it is your bed too."

"You are out of your mind," she said angrily as she gathered her book and reading glasses. She tossed back the thin summer blankets and jumped up from the bed. "I don't know what kind of game you think you are playing, but I am not interested!"

"It's no game, Emily, we're married."

"We're separated!" she yelled back at him.

"I never agreed to that," he said placidly.

"You have lost your mind," she hissed. "If you think that I am going to remain married to a man who has so little respect for me or my feelings, you have another thing coming!"

"I have a great deal of respect for you, Emily."

Emily shook her head in disbelief. She stared at the man she had been married to for nearly four decades as if she had never truly seen him before. "You are completely bereft of your senses," she murmured.

"It's very simple, really," Richard said as he held his palms open to her. "I love you, I'm married to you and I wish to remain married to you. That's all there is to it."

"That's all there is to it?" she repeated, completely astounded. "You don't need me, Richard. You have your valet, and Floyd, and Moby. You have martini bars and cigar clubs," she said angrily.

"Oh, I've joined a barbershop quartet," he told her proudly as he lowered himself to the mattress. "We do it up right. Dress in period costume, these silly vests and things. We've performed a couple of times at charity events."

Emily stepped away from the bed, her bewildered gaze still locked on him. "All right," she answered, completely at a loss for how to respond to this new revelation. "I don't know who you are," she murmured, unaware that the words had escaped her lips.

"I'm your husband," Richard answered firmly.

Emily sucked in a sharp breath. "Because you want to be. Today," she added snidely. When he held her gaze, Emily lifted her chin and said, "But you haven't been much of a husband, have you? At least, not lately."

"Perhaps not," he admitted. "But I am still your husband."

Emily stiffened at the proprietary tone of his voice. "Well, perhaps I no longer want to be your wife," she said in a dangerously quiet voice. "How do you like them apples," she added as she spun on her heel and fled from the room.

Richard scowled deeply as he sank back onto his pillow. He heard one of the bedroom doors slam down the hall, and winced as he stared up at the ceiling. "I don't think that I like that at all," he mumbled as he turned onto his side. He inhaled deeply, feeling the rush of warmth that coursed through his veins as he breathed in her familiar scent. "I don't care for those apples at all."

****

How Rory managed to make it through breakfast without gagging on her french toast, she'll never know. If the gooey eyed stares between her mother and Luke when they thought no one was looking weren't bad enough; the prickly feel of her friends and neighbors' eyes on the back of her neck make her stomach clench.

And now that she had managed to get it down, she wasn't sure that she could keep it in her stomach as she efficiently worked her way through her morning 'to do' list. She had witnessed more than one tight knit group of people suddenly abruptly stop talking as they entered the diner. She had endured Patty and Babette's thinly veiled questioning outside of Doose's, noting with little amusement that each of them had glanced through the market's plate glass windows at least five times in the course of a two minute conversation. She had shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably as Andrew made equally uncomfortable small talk as he rang up her purchases at the bookstore.

She had unabashedly turned tail and fled when she spotted Jess' old girlfriend, Shane, behind the counter at the beauty supply store, and feigned unnatural interest in a ream of twenty pound printer paper in the stationery store as Mrs. Forrester purchased a package of note cards and Clara complained loudly about not being able to get the Avril Lavigne CD that she wanted.

But the worst, the absolute worst, was when she rounded the corner near Weston's bakery and looked straight into Dean's startled eyes as he sat at a small table on the sidewalk across from Lindsay. She froze as Lindsay turned, following Dean's line of vision, and watched as Lindsay leapt from her chair and practically ran down the sidewalk in the opposite direction.

Rory forced her feet to move as Dean rose slowly from his chair, his gaze never wavering.

"Um, hi," she offered lamely as she stopped a safe five feet from him.

"Hi," he answered gruffly.

"Uh, how are you?" she asked as she gestured to him lamely. "Are you okay?"

"Am I okay?" he scoffed.

Rory clutched the bags she held closer to her chest. "Yeah, I mean... how do you feel?" When Dean scoffed again and looked around in disbelief, she sighed. "I'm sorry. That's a stupid question."

Dean pressed his tongue into his cheek as he turned back to her. "No. It's not a stupid question. Um, let's see. How do I feel? Actually, I feel like an idiot," he said bitterly.

"Why?"

"Why? Because I was married, Rory. Married! And I threw it all away for someone who dumped me once and then just bailed on me!"

"I didn't just bail. I…" she tried to find the right words, but Dean cut her off.

"I hurt everybody. I hurt Lindsay, I hurt her parents, I hurt my parents, and now I'm back at home, and you're in Europe with your grandmother." He shook his head as he glared at her. "And what the hell was I thinking? I mean, what am I doing? What's wrong with me?"

Rory's stomach dropped dangerously as she stared at the sidewalk and shook her head. "Nothing," she managed to whisper.

Dean's jaw tightened as he stared at her for a moment and then looked away. "I'm trying to fix it. I'd appreciate it if you just left me along, okay?"

"Okay," she said meekly.

"I've got to get ready for work," he said as he pushed past her and headed in the same direction Lindsay had gone.

"Yeah, okay," Rory murmured to herself.

When she finally worked up the courage to raise her head, Dean was gone. Instead, Rory found herself staring at the bold floral print of Eastside Tillie's summer blouse as she hurried away, undoubtedly seeking the nearest telephone.

Rory gathered her wits about her and turned toward home, cursing Thomas Wolfe and the wisdom of his words. She made it about half a block before she pulled her cell phone from her pocket and pressed a speed dial key. She slowed as the call went through, and then stopped as she heard the voice on the other end.

"Grandma? Can I come and talk to you?" she asked softly.

****

Fight or flight?

It's the most basic choice one has to make when faced with peril. It is the catalyst that propels you from inaction to action.

You decide that your plan isn't working the way that you want it to, so you go back to the drawing board and prepare for the battle of your life. For now you know that flight is an intolerable option.

You realize that you may have underestimated your opponent, and the lengths he will go to in order to maintain the status quo. You flee to a safer place, desperate to give yourself time to determine how to deal with this unexpected development.

You steel yourself, resolved to fight to the death to protect the people that you love most. And fight you will, tooth and nail, because you finally have everything that you have wanted, and you'll be damned if anyone is going to take that away.

You step back, giving way to the way things used to be as you hope that you won't have to fight to make them the way you want them to be. You step away, just one or two steps, because you aren't really sure if the fight is going to be necessary, but you're afraid that it may be in the end.

You formulate a plan, because you know that no matter what; standing still in this time, in this place, with all these people staring at you, watching you, judging you, will only make things worse. You make a call, because you don't want to fight, you simply want to fly away.

tbc


	10. Into the Brave New World

**A/N: Get comfortable, it's a long one. It's also the last one. The point of this story was to show them trying to navigate through uncharted territory. I have wrestled with it, because I have a tendency to want to wrap everything up with a nice, neat bow. I have not done that here, but I think we have gotten them all to a point where they can find their way on their own.**

**My thanks to IKilledKenny, for purchasing this story in the April Support Stacie auction. I know that it may not have turned out to be what you had in mind, but I hope that you enjoyed it anyway. Special thanks to all of you who read and reviewed. I appreciate your support and encouragement more than you will ever know. **

**Into the Brave New World**

There's a moment when everything is still. There's a moment when the air around you feels so calm, so peaceful, and so serene, that you almost feel safe. What you don't realize is that the minute you give into it, the moment you wrap yourself in that false sense of security, the second you let yourself believe that the cease-fire is for real; that's when you're most vulnerable.

**

You step out into the open, hopeful that you can reclaim what was once yours. You leave your back exposed, a textbook tactical error, but how would you know any better? This is the place where you have always felt safe. These are the people who have always backed you up. In every childhood game you were coerced into playing, 'home base' was the place that you most wanted to get to. You screwed up. You screwed up big. And then you screwed up again. You ran for home, but forgot to look both ways. You forgot to check behind the trees. You stepped out into the open and ran for home, but you forgot to look over your shoulder. You didn't even see it coming until it all caught up to you.

**

You've made a terrible mistake. Know your enemy. It's the most basic of concepts. You thought you knew. You thought you had it all figured out. You thought that it was a simple matter of reassurance. You thought that a strong offense would beat down her defenses. You were absolutely positive that if you could simply make her listen, if you put it simply and concisely, she would have to understand that there's never been anyone else for you. There will never be anyone else but her. But out of the blue, without any warning, she let you have it between the eyes. You thought that she thought that you didn't want her. You never dreamed that she wouldn't want you.

**

You look around and find that the walls you have built up around you all have tumbled to the ground. You stand up straight, pulling your shoulders back and breathing in deeply as you take a quick inventory. Everything seems to be intact. She was home. You have him. At last, all of the pieces are falling into place. After all these years, it looks like you're finally going to get everything that you secretly dreamed of as you sat hunkered down in your bunker, fighting your way toward something that you would never, ever admit to needing. At least, not out loud. But now, it's right there.

Now, you step over the rubble that was once your fortress, and smile as you tip your face up to the sunshine, confident that it's all within reach, never suspecting that you could be brought down by friendly fire. Friendly fire. Suddenly, you hear Carol Burnett's voice in your head, but she not doing the Tarzan call. This is not a TV movie, this is not the least bit mockable. You hear your inner voice trembling, just like Carol's did when she said those two words, and you learn that sometimes the enemy isn't out there; sometimes the attack comes from your own quarters. You look around, and realize you're standing there, all alone, out in the open, without a wall to duck behind.

**

You don't care if it's smart. You don't care if she stomps all over your heart. It doesn't matter anymore, it's out there. You said it, she said it, and now they know. Okay, she didn't really say it. At least, not the words, but you tell yourself that it's all right, you got the gist of it, loud and clear. Words couldn't always be trusted anyway. Words can indeed become weapons, but not in this case, you've already handed your arsenal over to her. You didn't anticipate needing anything else. You thought that what you had given her and what she had implied could make you both impenetrable. But then, you realize that you could have been terribly wrong.

You stand by helplessly, defenseless and unarmed as other words riddle her body like a hail of bullets. And you realize that your words can do nothing to shield her. You watch her reel and jerk, twisting away from the impact; and that's when you know that the words, those words you had guarded so jealously for so long, were absolutely powerless. You force your feet to move. Mindless of the bullets whizzing past your ears, you sprint into the open; desperate to get to her, even though you know that it may be too late. You throw your body over hers, hoping that you aren't too late, praying that she heard you, really heard you when you said those words, and worrying that even if she did, they may not be enough to save her.

**

Alexander the Great, Genghis Khan, Joseph Goebbels, and Richard Gilmore. Masters of psychological warfare. You tell yourself that that as long as you are aware of what he is doing, you can withstand the assault. You tell yourself that you're stronger than whatever mind game he thinks he is playing; and that you are right, and with right comes might. You stay on your guard, falling back to safer territory, and gather your wits about you. You know that it can be a potent weapon, one still employed in modern day warfare, with perhaps, a touch more subtlety. And subtlety is your strong suit. You decide that two can play this game. You envision pamphlets floating down onto the desert of your marriage, as you plot your campaign. You know that no matter how badly you may want to believe his words, you can't allow yourself to buy into the propaganda.

********************************************************************************************

No one knows better than Emily Gilmore that the best thing to do for a sleepless night is to engage in a little retail retaliation. She wasn't exactly sure what kind of mind game Richard was trying to play with her, but he had chosen the wrong opponent. She put his words from her mind, knowing that he had thousands at his disposal if he chose to employ them to get what he wants. What he didn't know was that she had no patience for the hollow tipped words of a man who refused to acknowledge his own culpability.

Carefully, she pulled a tissue wrapped bundle from its snug box. Deftly she peeled back the tissue to reveal a sparking crystal bowl, similar, but much smaller than the one that sat on the sideboard. She didn't spare the original bowl a glance as she unwrapped two more bowls, exact duplicates of the first, and placed the three of them side by side on the dining room table.

She moved purposefully to the sideboard and opened a cabinet. There, she retrieved a small wooden crate, and carried it back to the table. She reached into the crate and pulled out a small tightly wrapped object. Gingerly, she began to unwrap it, marveling as each millimeter of shining red perfection was unveiled. She held the apple in the palm of her hand, lifting it to the light as she smiled her pleasure. She placed the apple in one of the small bowls, and then reached for the next. With each successive piece of delicate, priceless fruit she unwrapped, her smile changed from simple pleasure to one of grim determination.

Emily stepped back from the table, surveying the three bowls, each holding three precious, hand-blown crimson apples. Without allowing herself to think too hard about whether these gorgeous works of art should be seen as a hint or a taunt, she picked up one of the bowls, cradling it in both hands as she walked toward the stairs. Moments later, she placed the bowl with the gleaming red apples on the nightstand on Richard's side of their bed. Her smile warmed with satisfaction as she gave a slight nod, and then turned to leave the room.

Another bowl was placed on the low coffee table in the living room, displacing a shining silver bowl filled with flawless sterling roses. Without sparing the silvery-lavender blooms a second glance, she moved them to a side table, and then hurried back to the dining room.

She paused just inside the door, her attention caught by the tall vase at the center of the sideboard which held striking cymbidium and phalaenopsis orchids. Her brow wrinkled as she tried to place where she had seen a similar arrangement, and then wondered how she could not have noticed them before. She reached out, tracing the edge of one of the delicate blooms with the pad of her finger, and then shook her head to dismiss them as she turned back to the table.

Emily picked up the bowl holding the last three of Georgio Baldi's stunning Venetian glass apples and marched straight to Richard's study. There, she placed it on his desk between his telephone and his date book. _That should give him a little food for thought for the next time he and Pennilyn Lott scheduled a little rendezvous,_ she thought with a satisfied smirk. Emily turned to leave, but out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Victor Hugo's humidor on the credenza. She craned her neck to peer at the corner of his desk, and saw the humidor that she had given him for his sixtieth birthday.

With an indelicate sniff, Emily turned away from the desk and hurried from the room, pulling the door closed behind her with a tad too much force. She hurried to the foyer and gathered her purse and keys just as Robert appeared in the doorway.

"Is everything all right, madam?" he asked solicitously.

"Everything is fine," Emily answered brusquely. "I'm going out again. The agency will be sending over the new maid I requested. Please show her around and for god's sake, tell her I want a decent meal on the table no earlier and no later than seven o'clock."

"Yes, madam," Robert replied with a nod.

Emily glanced into the dining room as she passed, and spotted the discarded tissue and the packing crate that the remainder of her stunning Venetian glass apples had arrived in. "And clean up that mess," she snapped as she lifted her chin and walked quickly toward the door.

She reached for the door handle, her steps only faltering for a moment when she noticed the stunning array of red, gold and orange blazing away on the hall table, their vibrant colors reflected in the same mirror that showed the stunned recognition on her face.

****

Lorelai set her coffee cup aside and dug her cell phone from her pocket. "Hello?"

"Hey," Luke answered gruffly.

"Well, hello." Lorelai ducked into the pantry to be heard over the hustle and bustle of the Dragonfly's kitchen.

"Hey. You free tonight?" he asked abruptly.

Lorelai smiled. "Aw, did you miss me?" When she heard only his sigh, her smile widened. "Poor widdle Wuke, were you wonely without your cuddly-wuddly Worelai last night?" she teased.

"Stop that. And, yes."

An almost giddy laugh escaped her lips as she leaned back against the pantry door. "I knew it," she said smugly.

"So, are you free?"

"For dinner?"

"After the dinner rush. A movie? A late dinner, if you want," he offered.

"How about I come by your place after dinner and we snuggle up on your couch, pretending to watch TV while we make out," she suggested.

"Perfect."

"About eight?"

"Great."

"And Luke? I missed you too," she said in a low, soft voice.

Luke's smile practically hummed through the phone line as he said, "I knew it," and then hung up.

****

"Is she leaving me?" Richard demanded without preamble.

There was a pause, and then a tinkling laugh echoed in his ear. "Well, hello Richard. How are you?" Hope said knowingly.

Richard's fingers tightened on the receiver as he ducked his head. "Hello, Hope."

"She doesn't want to leave you, but she thinks she has to," Hope told him, answering his first question without needing to be prompted again.

"Why?"

"Why? Because of her pride, naturally," she answered with a hollow laugh.

"I don't understand. What has happened to her? What happened to my Emily?" he asked in a genuinely bewildered tone. He cleared his throat and took a deep breath. "I suppose she told you everything."

"You mean about your torrid lunch affair with Lynnie Lott?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Richard boomed.

"Calm down," Hope said placidly. "Emily knows that Pennilyn Lott is no threat to her."

"Then what? Why is she leaving me?"

"Why, because of you, Richard," she said bluntly.

"Me? What did I do?"

"It isn't what you've done, but rather, what you haven't done?"

"Our anniversary isn't until February. I remembered her birthday, I always do," he murmured as he ran through a mental list of the things that husbands commonly fail to remember.

"It's nothing like that," Hope assured him.

"Then what? What?" he asked, desperation edging out the impatience in his tone.

Hope sighed, filling the silence that practically crackled over the phone line. "She thinks that you don't see her anymore. She thinks that you don't need her."

"That's ridiculous! Of course I need her!"

"Well, she doesn't see it that way, and from what she tells me, you haven't been seeing it either."

"Seeing what?"

"Your wife, broken hearted and alone as they buried her oldest friend. Your lifelong partner, brushed aside because cocktails and canapés are passé. Her future jeopardized by your vanity and thirst for revenge. Her tenuous relationship with Lorelai the possible victim of your quest for survival. Is that enough for you, or shall I go on?" she inquired stiffly.

"No," Richard breathed into the phone. "No need to go on. I understand," he said in a defeated tone.

"Good."

Richard looked up at his blank, sterile office; blinking rapidly as he realized the price he may have paid to sit in this uncomfortable chair, behind a mass-manufactured desk, and stare out onto the stunning array of white stripes that marked the parking spaces below.

"Will she forgive me?" he croaked.

Hope sighed again, her voice softening as she said, "I don't know, Richard. I really don't know. But, I hope so. For her sake, not yours, because you really do not deserve her."

"I know."

"But she loves you. I do know that," she said quietly.

"Thank you, Hopie," he said with a soft sigh of relief.

"Anytime, Dick, Anytime," she answered, using the nickname she knew drove him crazy; her devilish grin evident in her voice as she cheerfully hung up on him.

****

"Rory! Come in, come in," Emily said brightly as she ushered her granddaughter inside. "I'm so happy that you called. I was out running errands, but I have to tell you, I missed shopping with my favorite partner in crime," she said as she laced her arm through Rory's and led her into the living room.

"I was running errands too," Rory told her.

"Tedious, isn't it?" Emily said with a conspiratorial smile. "Yes, uh, Robert, please bring some iced tea for us," she called to the man hovering in the doorway.

Rory jumped, startled by his unseen presence, and then turned to Emily wide eyed the moment he disappeared. "A butler?"

Emily rolled her eyes. "Your grandfather calls him a 'valet,' whatever that is supposed to mean. He hired the man the moment I was gone! But it doesn't matter. I have a new maid coming in today. Hopefully she'll be from one of those former Soviet countries and will frighten Jeeves away," she added with a dismissive wave of her hand.

"Grandma!" Rory laughed.

"Ah, thank you, Robert," Emily said as the man in question appeared with two tall glasses of iced tea on a small silver tray.

"Thank you," Rory murmured as she took hers, wrapping her fingers tightly around the cool glass.

Emily took a tiny sip of her tea, and then smiled brightly for Rory. "So, you wanted to talk to me?" she prompted. "Not that you need an excuse to visit, you're always welcome here, you know that," she rambled.

"Yeah, um, thank you, Grandma," Rory said, cutting her off. She shifted to the edge of the couch, clutching her untouched tea in both hands as she took a deep breath and then plunged right in. "I was wondering if I could move into your pool house for the rest of the summer."

"The pool house?" Emily inquired, stunned by the request.

"Just until classes start again." Rory set her glass down on the coffee table and smoothed her palms over her jeans as she lowered her gaze. "Something happened. I did something that wasn't right. It was very, very wrong, and I hurt a lot of people," she said quietly. "That's why I went to Europe with you. I used you to get away from it all," she admitted as she looked up timidly.

"What could you have possibly done that could be so bad?" Emily asked, trying to fathom what a sweet young woman like Rory could do to harm as many people as she claimed.

"Please don't ask me that," Rory implored. "I know it was bad, I know it was wrong, but please, I don't want to tell you what I did."

"What does your mother say about all of this?" Emily asked, unable to suppress the hint of injury in her tone.

"She thinks that I need to face it. I thought I was ready to, but I'm not. I just can't face it yet," Rory said desperately. "Please, Grandma, you'll hardly know that I'm here. I promise I won't impose on you or on Grandpa, I just need a little more time to think, and I can't think there," she said, her voice clogging with tears.

"Of course you can come here," Emily answered, powerless against Rory's obvious misery. "But wouldn't you be more comfortable here? We still have your room upstairs."

Rory shook her head as she wiped her eyes. "I think I would prefer to have a little more space, if you don't mind."

"Of course," Emily said with an empathetic nod.

"Thank you," Rory whispered, relieved. "I, uh, I need to go home, get some clothes, and let Mom know…" she said as she stood up.

"Certainly," Emily said as she stood too, her glass of tea forgotten in her hand as Rory leaned over the coffee table and hugged her gratefully.

Rory pulled away, with a sheepish smile, and tucked her hair behind her ears as she glanced down. "Those are pretty," she commented as she gestured to the crystal bowl that held three gleaming red apples.

"Thank you. They're just something I picked up somewhere," she said dismissively.

"Aren't those the ones you ordered that day we saw you in the mall?" Rory asked with a puzzled frown.

"Yes. Yes, they are," Emily confirmed.

"I thought I remembered them. They are pretty," Rory said again as Emily ushered her to the door.

"When you come back, I'll have to pool house unlocked. Let us know you're here, and I'll have Robert carry your bags in for you."

Rory paused at the door and turned to face her. "Will Grandpa be okay with this? I mean, I know that you two haven't been getting along very well…"

"You leave your grandfather to me," Emily said firmly. "I'm sure he'll be delighted to have you nearby," she added as she opened the front door.

"Thank you," Rory said again, and then slipped through the door, hurrying to her car.

Once she pulled away, Emily closed the door quietly and leaned back against it, her eyes wandering to the blazing roses in the vase on the table. She exhaled slowly, and then drew another deep breath, mentally preparing herself for the explosion she was sure to come. She jumped when her heard another car door slam, and then scurried away from the door before Richard caught her lingering there.

****

He sat in his chair, the glove leather molding to him, cradling him in its buttery softness as he laced his fingers together; lost in thought as he stared at the beautifully ornate antique desk she had chosen for him long ago. There was no doubt in his mind that this was where he belonged. He wondered why he ever would think a corner office was so important. _None of that was important. This is what's important, _he told reprimanded himself.

Richard leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk as he ran both hands over his face; trying to scrub away the echoing memory of Hope's words, but knowing the veracity of her statements would render them indelible. He knew now that it wasn't a matter of a secret kept, or an imagined infidelity. He knew now that it was much worse than that.

_Benign neglect_, he thought to himself sourly.

He certainly never meant to brush Emily aside. Never in a million years would he have wanted to make her think that he did not know and appreciate every little thing she had every done for him. He had made the mistake of assuming that after nearly forty years of marriage, she would know how deeply he loved her, how desperately he needed her, and how wholly he depended on her. Had had been wrong. Horribly, tragically and possibly fatally wrong.

He lowered his hands with a sigh, his fingertips trailing over the date planner that lay open near his phone and then brushing against the cool facets of a crystal bowl he had never seen before. Richard cocked his head as he stared at the flawless glass apples in the bowl, admiring the way they glowed in the dim afternoon light filtering through the heavy drapes.

Reaching for one of the gossamer thin apples, he held it up, admiring the way it sat perfectly balanced in the palm of his hand. His office door opened without a knock, and his fingers closed over the apple convulsively, squeezing the delicate glass until it shattered in his hand.

He looked up, his mouth agape with shock, and he saw Emily hovering in the doorway. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to break it," he apologized like a schoolboy caught in the act.

"Are you all right?" Emily inquired politely, nodding to his hand.

Richard opened his hand over his desk blotter, letting the shards of crimson glass fall onto the snowy white surface, unaccompanied by so much as a drop of blood. "I'm fine. Thank you, Emily," he said slowly, his eyes fixed on the blood red slivers of glass that now littered his desktop.

"I just wanted to let you know that Rory will be staying with us for a few weeks. Just until school starts again," she told him.

"Staying with us?"

"Yes, in the pool house. Apparently, Rory appreciates having some privacy," she said pointedly, and then pulled the door closed behind her.

Richard looked down, flexing his fingers until he felt the bite of a tiny, unseen shard of glass, and watched as small bead of blood formed in the crease of his hand, knowing it was not nearly what he deserved.

****

"Hellooooooo!" Lorelai called as she let the front door slam behind her. "Hello, daughter of mine? Are you home?" She dropped her purse and keys onto the desk and then shouted toward the kitchen, "You'd better be home! I'm starving! We need to eat something quick because I have a hot date tonight."

Lorelai cocked her head as she listened for a response, and then sighed, "Fine, ditch me," she mumbled as she kicked off her high heels and shuffled toward the kitchen to find something to tide her over.

She poked her head into Rory's room and smiled when she saw the neatly made single bed and the books on the nightstand stacked perfectly by size. She turned toward the kitchen, and then stopped as she saw the closet doors standing open.

A mixture of curiosity and trepidation dripped down into her stomach as she approached the closet and spotted the empty hangers standing bereft on the rod that had just been crammed full of freshly laundered clothing just the night before. She whirled to look at the desk and saw that the cord for Rory's laptop, as well as the computer itself, was missing.

"No," she whispered as she all but ran from the room. She stopped at the kitchen table, pressing her hand to her pounding heart as she spied a folded note standing stark white against the scarred wood grain.

Slowly, she reached for it, and opened the page to reveal her baby's painstakingly practiced cursive writing.

'_Mom, I'm sorry, but I can't stay here, it's too much. I've gone to Grandma and Grandpa's…' _

Lorelai crumpled the page in her hand as a sob wrenched from her throat. "God, no, not again," she said angrily as she spun and headed for the foyer.

She grabbed her purse and keys from the desk, and jammed her swollen feet back into the pumps that had tormented her all afternoon. Clutching the note in her hand she barreled through the front door, and down the porch steps, not even bothering to wince as the glass rattled ominously behind her.

****

"Where is she?" Lorelai demanded as the front door began to swing open. She stared in confusion at the strange man in the dark suit regarding her impassively.

"May I help you?" Robert asked.

"I'm Lorelai Gilmore. I'm looking for my daughter, Rory."

"I believe that Miss Rory is in…" Robert began, only to be cut off by Emily.

"Lorelai?"

"Where is she, Mom?" Lorelai demanded as she brushed past the strange man holding her parents' front door.

"She's safe, she's fine," Emily assured her in a calm tone.

"Where is she?" Lorelai asked again, grinding each word out from between clenched teeth.

"She's in the pool house," Emily said with a resigned sigh.

"Thank you," Lorelai answered in a snippy tone as she blew past her mother, heading for the veranda doors.

"She came to me, Lorelai," Emily called after her.

Lorelai pushed through the double doors onto the veranda without an acknowledgement. She skirted the edge of the pool shimmering in the fading daylight and marched for the french doors that led into the pool house.

She pulled herself up short as her hand reached for the doorknob, and stared through the paned glass, watching as Rory carefully shelved a stack of books; clearly intending to stay for a while. Her hand fell from the knob, as Rory sensed her gaze and turned toward the doors. Their eyes met for a moment, and then Rory looked down, breaking the contact as her jaw tightened and a flush colored her cheeks.

Lorelai sucked in a breath, the pain of it all slicing through her as her daughter turned resolutely away from the doors. She reached for the doorknob once more and threw the door open. Rory jumped as the wood frame of the door crashed into the edge of an end table, and turned to her mother with an incredulous glare.

"Don't worry, I'm sure they can take that out of your security deposit," Lorelai snarled as she stepped into the room.

"Mom," Rory began tiredly.

"Running away again, huh?" she asked snidely.

Rory lifted her chin and leveled an unblinking stare at her mother. "You should know what it looks like, shouldn't you?"

"I don't run away from my problems!"

"No? You ran away from Grandma and Grandpa. You ran away from Max," Rory accused.

"That was different!"

"Not all that different. It's a good thing Luke knows what he's getting into," Rory remarked as she turned away and began shelving her books again.

"That was totally uncalled for," Lorelai protested.

"I learned everything I know from you."

"That's not true!"

Rory turned back to her and said, "Maybe not in the strictest of senses, but in general, yes. You are my guidepost for everything, even how to fight dirty," she added softly.

"This is not my fault," Lorelai whispered in a wounded tone.

"No, it isn't," Rory conceded.

"Why are you making this about me?"

"You're making this about you! But not everything is about you, Mom! You come barging in here like I've done something to you, but I haven't. I'm trying to do something for myself. I'm trying to figure out who I even am, and how can I do that when you want me to be you?" Rory asked heatedly.

"I don't want you to be me! I want you to be better than me!"

"Maybe I can't be! Maybe I can't even be as good as you, have you ever thought of that?"

"Well, that would makes us both pretty damn pathetic, because according to you, I suck!"

"I never said that!" Rory shouted.

"I was stupid enough to believe your father when he said that he was done with Sherry, I ran away from a house where I wasn't wanted, where I couldn't breathe, where I didn't dare be myself. I refused to marry a man that I didn't love the way he deserved to be loved. Yes! I did all of that!" Lorelai shouted back. "There? Are you happy now? I admitted it! I never lied about it. I never tried to hide it from you."

"And I'm not trying to hide anything from you," Rory said quietly. "I'm not like you that way. I can't pretend that I don't care what people think about me, and just go on with my life. I can't brush off the stares and the whispers and the catty comments with a joke and a fresh swipe of lip gloss. I'm not as strong as you are," she said stubbornly.

Lorelai swallowed hard as she crossed her arms over her chest and looked away. "This is what you want?" she asked in a hoarse voice.

"This is what I need," Rory answered without hesitation.

Lorelai nodded as she bit her lip and blinked back her tears. "Okay," she whispered as she back toward the door. "Tell them the maid did that when she came in to clean. Doesn't matter, won't be the same one next week anyway," she said as she reached for the handle and swung the glass paned door toward her.

"There's a butler now," Rory told her.

"Yeah, I saw that, uh, him," Lorelai answered as she hesitated in the doorway.

"You see, the thing is, Rory, that's what everyone gets wrong about me," she said softly. "The attitude, the jokes, the lip gloss… It doesn't make me strong, it makes me weak. I guess I thought that you, of all people, would get that."

With that, she pulled the door closed behind her, squared her shoulders, and lifted her chin as she walked slowly around the end of the pool, and followed the garden path around the side of the house to the driveway.

Rory opened the french doors, and stepped out onto the pool deck, still clutching both handles tightly in her hands as she listened for the familiar sound of the Jeep's engine. There was a peal of tires against pavement, and then a dull roar as the car sped into the waning evening light, heading for the one place where Lorelai always felt safe, no matter what she did, or who she wanted to be. Rory sighed as she stepped back into the pool house, pulling the doors closed firmly behind her as she wondered if she'd ever feel truly at home anywhere again.

****

Emily stood just inside the living room, staring at the doorway that had swallowed her daughter as she watched her walk away from her once more. She bit her lip to ward of the hot rush of tears that ached in her throat, and fidgeted with the top button on her jacket as she silently willed her daughter or granddaughter to come back. She ached for their confidence, she knew with absolute certainty that, if they would only give her a chance, she might be able to be helpful to one or both of them with whatever it was that was troubling them. But she also knew that the possibility of that happening was very slim indeed.

"Is everything okay?" Richard asked quietly as he stepped from his study. When Emily looked up at him blankly, he shrugged and said simply, "I heard a commotion."

"Lorelai," Emily answered succinctly as she walked slowly to her usual chair and sank down into it.

"Ahh," Richard said with a sage nod. He moved to the drink cart and began to prepare a pitcher of very dry vodka martinis. "Why has Rory moved into our pool house?" he asked without turning around.

"I don't know," Emily answered softly.

"I'm assuming that she is having some sort of difficulty with Lorelai," he mused as he shook the tumbler filled with ice, vodka and vermouth to mix it.

Emily's brows drew together. "I don't know. I don't believe so," she murmured. "She said that she had done something, had hurt someone."

Richard's eyebrows shot up as he poured the concoction into two martini glasses and added a twist to Emily's. "I find that hard to believe," he scoffed as he picked up the glasses and carried Emily's cocktail over to her.

"Thank you," she said distractedly as she took the proffered glass.

"Perhaps Rory is upset with the choices that Lorelai seems to be making in her personal life," he commented as he hiked the legs of his suit pants up and settled in the chair near hers.

"You mean Jason? I thought that was finished," Emily asked, surprised.

"I mean Luke."

"Luke?"

"Luke Danes, the man who runs that diner," Richard elaborated.

"Yes, I know who he is, but what makes you think that Lorelai is involved with him?" Emily asked, leaning toward him with interest.

"He came to the inn one night while I was having dinner with Lorelai. Neither of them said anything, but I sensed that there was something more going on between them. Perhaps there is. That could explain why Rory is so upset," he concluded.

Emily stared down at the lemon rind floating in her cocktail deep in thought. She shook her head slightly and said, "I'm not sure that Rory would be upset by that. She seems very fond of Luke. As a matter of fact, I doubt we were served a cup of coffee anywhere in Europe that wasn't compared to his and found sorely lacking," she added with a wry twist of her lips.

"Yes, well, he apparently runs a successful business. For a small town, I mean."

"Yes."

"He seems to be a nice enough fellow. Rough, uneducated, his personality is a tad prickly," Richard observed.

Emily smirked and said, "So is Lorelai's," as she raised her glass and took a dainty sip of her drink.

"True," Richard conceded with a chuckle.

Emily shook her head dismissively and said, "They've been friends for years from what I gather, never anything more."

"I hope not. He seems to be a genuine sort of man, but he certainly would not be a suitable match for Lorelai."

"Certainly not," Emily agreed. Glancing over at Richard, they shared a small smile of complete accord.

"It's pure speculation on my part," Richard admitted.

"Well, you never have been very astute with picking up on these things," Emily said with a small smug smile.

Richard had the grace to chuckle quietly. "No, I suppose not." He pondered the evening he had spent at the Dragonfly for a moment and then shrugged it off. "Anyhow, if they are involved, it can't be anything too terribly serious. You know how flighty Lorelai is."

"Yes," Emily murmured thoughtfully. "Perhaps that is what is upsetting Rory. She is fond of Luke, maybe she disapproved of this dalliance and let Lorelai know it. Or Luke, for that matter," she guessed.

"Perhaps that is it," Richard agreed.

They heard a car door slam, and turned toward the windows as the Jeep roared to life. Emily winced as she heard the rubber of Lorelai's tires squeal against the driveway.

"I'll have someone come out tomorrow to pressure wash the drive," Richard said quietly.

****

Lorelai pressed the accelerator harder, edging the needle up over eighty and pushing it toward ninety in her haste. Hartford no longer loomed in her rearview mirror, but Stars Hollow had yet to appear on the horizon. She wiped a stray tear from her eye, blinking furiously as she forced herself to let up on the gas.

_Soon, soon, I'll be there soon_, she repeated over and over again. But the miles that seemed to whiz by when she was running toward her daughter, now stretched never-ending in front of her as she sped through the waning hazy evening light.

_Soon, soon, I'll get home soon_, she assured herself as she flew past the exit just before the one she needed.

_Soon, soon, I'll see him soon_, she told herself as she blew past the sign that welcomed everyone who passed to their crazy corner of Connecticut.

_Soon, soon, he'll wrap his arms around me, __and everything will be all right,_ she consoled herself as she jerked to a stop in front of the diner.

_Soon, soon, we'll figure this all out soon, _the bells chimed in greeting as she rushed through the door.

_Soon, soon, we'll all know what to do, and who to be, and how to go on_, she promised herself as her feet beat a steady tattoo up the worn wooden steps.

When she reached the landing, the apartment door opened, and Luke stood blocking her path. "You're late," he growled. "That means we're watching a western."

"I'm just in time," she answered as she stepped into him, winding her arms around his neck as she propelled him back into the apartment.

Luke slammed the door with a flick of his wrist, and then lowered his lips to hers. "I've been waiting all day to do that," he said with a deep, throaty chuckle.

"I've been waiting my whole life for it," Lorelai answered as she buried her hands in his hair and kissed him hungrily.

Luke's smile creased his face, etching deep grooves around his mouth, and shooting a spray of fine lines from the corners of his eyes. He ran his hand over her hair and said softly, "I missed you."

"I'm home now," she told him solemnly.

****

"Dinner is served," Robert announced gravely, and then faded back into the woodwork in that disturbing way of his.

Emily looked up from her nearly empty martini glass, her eyes widening in surprise. "Oh."

"Dinner?" Richard asked as he turned in his seat to peer into the dining room that had not seen a full meal served since before Emily's trip to Europe.

Emily followed his gaze and then closed her eyes as she saw the table set for two. Her mouth thinned into a line as she set her glass aside. "I must not have made it clear to the staff that we would be dining separately," she said as she stood up.

"I see," Richard murmured, slumping back into his chair as the hope that had lit his blue eyes fading once more as the companionable moments they had just shared slipped through his fingers.

Emily cast him an exasperated look and then rolled her eyes. "Well, you may as well join me," she said impatiently as she stalked off toward the dining room.

Richard's lips quirked into a small smile as he set his glass aside and murmured, "A gracious invitation. Thank you."

"Do not get used to this," she warned as he hurried into the dining room to hold her chair for her.

"I wouldn't dream of it," he answered innocently.

Richard took his customary place as Emily glared at the bowl of shining red apples that had found its way back to the center of the table. "Who put these here?" she demanded when her new maid appeared with their salads.

"I did, madam," Robert answered from behind her. When she turned to glare at him, he simply said, "I believed the orchids to be too tall and that they would have interfered with conversation. I can move them back, if you prefer," he offered passively.

"They're fine, leave them where they are," she snapped as she picked up her salad fork, and began to seek revenge against her endive.

The dining room was silent, but for the gentle scrape of cutlery on china. Emily could feel Richard watching her covertly, and studiously avoided lifting her head.

"We didn't put any music on," Richard commented. When Emily didn't respond, he tried again. "I'm sorry that I broke one of your apples. I've always liked those," Richard said conversationally.

Emily dropped her fork to her plate with a clatter as she pulled her napkin from her lap and slammed it to the table. She stood up, bracing both hands on the table as the daggers flew from her eyes. "You have not always liked those! You can't possibly have formed such a longstanding and fond attachment to them. They're new!" she shouted the length of the damask clothed table.

Richard scowled as he studied the Waterford crystal bowl in the center of the table. "They are not, they've been here for months," he insisted.

"Yes, now they have, but the very day that I brought them home, I placed them in that bowl, and set them right where they are sitting now. I asked you what you thought of them and you told me that you have 'always liked those', well you couldn't have always liked them, you'd never seen them!" she cried, her voice carrying through the empty house.

"I do like them," he said angrily.

"You had never laid eyes on them. You didn't even see them did you? Just like you never really saw me!"

"That's not true!" Richard boomed as he shot out of his chair.

"Tell me something, Richard. Tell me one thing that you know about me that your _valet_ wouldn't know," she sneered, sending the man hovering in the hallway scurrying for cover.

"I know everything about you."

"One thing, Richard. You said that there was no music on. What would I be listening to?" she demanded.

"We always listen to classical music when we have dinner. For god's sake, why didn't we put any music on!" he cried in frustration.

"I hate listening to classical music every night," she spat as she turned and stormed toward the stairs.

"Then fine, we won't listen to that! Pick whatever you like," he said as he took off after her.

"You have no idea what I like."

"Put in Tony Bennett, or that Blossom Dearie CD that you like so much," he cried desperately as he long legs ate up the distance between them. He reached for her arm as she climbed to the third step.

"Please, Emily, please come back to the table. Don't leave. I'll beg if I have to," he said in a low urgent voice. Emily turned slowly back to him, at last, looking him straight in the eye. "I love you, Emily. I always have," he said as he reached up with his free hand and brushed back a lock of her thick auburn hair.

"Do not do this to me," she hissed through clenched teeth.

"I know I haven't been a very good husband to you lately," he continued, undeterred. "I know I've disappointed you over and over again."

"Yes, you have."

"I'm sorry, Emily," he said as he moved to take both of her hands in his. "I am truly and deeply sorry. You are everything to me, please, I can't lose you," he pled as he saw her resolve faltering.

"I don't know," she said softly.

"Just give me the chance, that's all I ask," Richard implored. "All I need is the chance to make it up to you. You'll see. No one could ever love you as much as I do, no one will ever need you more than I need you."

****

His lips never fully leaving hers, Luke guided Lorelai blindly toward his bed, a trail of discarded clothing marking their path. Soon, she lay beneath him, her lips red and swollen from his kisses, her cheeks flushed pink with arousal, her blue eyes hazy with desire. And something else. Something that he hadn't seen in weeks, something he had hoped he would never see again.

He touched her. Stroking every millimeter of silken skin that he could reach, marveling at how incredible she felt in his hands, trying to soothe the ache he heard in her soft moans. She touched him. Her fingers gliding over his skull as if memorizing the very shape of it, her palms smoothing over the slope of his shoulders before conquering the hard planes of his back.

He kissed her. Her lips, her cheeks, her eyelids, her hair. He tasted the sweet curve of her jaw, and feasted on the creamy skin of her throat. His tongue danced teasingly over her freckles, his mouth suckled greedily at her breast. He stroked her, lips, teeth and tongue joining forces with his hands to reclaim what was rightfully his.

And when she pulled him to her, he held himself above her, his forearms cradling her head as he kissed her over and over again, whispering gruff words of awe at how perfectly they fit one another.

He moved inside of her, watching her eyes, catching her sighs, gauging his every move by her response. And when she peaked, her body closing tightly around him, pulling him deeper into her as her arms and legs bound him to her like steel; he watched in rapt amazement, knowing that he was the one to bring her there.

Her arms and legs grew slack, but she never released him, looking up at him with those incredible blue eyes as she urged him to move faster, confident that she could be the one to give him as much as he gave to her. Luke felt his climax building, surging through his body, giving him what surely had to be super-human strength. He kept his eyes locked on hers, wanting her to see, needing her to know how much she meant to him.

And as he filled her, her hands flew to his face, cupping his rough cheeks between her hands as she gazed up at him, enraptured by the absolute vulnerability she saw in the deep blue depths.

"Luke," she breathed reverently.

He smiled weakly as he slowed, his long lashes sweeping down to provide too flimsy a defense employed far too late. He buried his face in her hair, resting his weight fully on her as he covered her body with his, shielding her from whatever had driven her to his door.

Their breathing slowed and he shifted slightly, easing his weight from her without lifting his head. "Tell me what happened."

Lorelai sighed and blinked up at the darkening ceiling. "Rory moved into my parents' pool house."

Luke pushed up on his arms as he peered down at her with a confused frown. "What? Why?"

"I came home from work, and found a note. She said it's only until she goes back to Yale. She said she couldn't handle being here, the stares, the whispers," she said quietly.

Luke's jaw tightened and the tiny vein in his forehead made its presence known. "I'll kill them. I'll kill them all," he growled as he began to push himself up off of her.

Lorelai grasped his arms tightly and pulled him back to her. "As much as I appreciate the thought, I'm not sure that a massive killing spree is the answer."

"Think of it. I can get rid of them all," he insisted. "No Taylor, not cardigans and gavels and moronic salute to the whositnots festivals," he said as he nodded enthusiastically, warming to the idea even more. "No gossiping old biddies with nothing better to do with their time, no stupid kids getting married before they can legally order a beer."

"It does sound like Utopia, but I'm afraid that if we were the only ones left after the slaughter, one or both of us would end up in the slammer. I don't look good in bright orange jumpsuits and I'm not sure that the conjugal visits thing works if you're both inmates," she told him soberly.

Luke stared down at her, his eyes boring into hers as he searched for the solution to their problem. "You look great in orange, but you might have a point."

"She says this is what she needs," Lorelai told him sadly.

"She already ran away to Europe, that was much farther," he pointed out.

"I know."

Luke pressed his lips together tightly, only relaxing them when she lifted her head off of the pillow to kiss them gently. "I hate this," he said raggedly.

"I know you do. I do too."

"Have you talked to her?"

"I just came from there," she answered with a nod.

"I see." Luke brushed a wayward curl from her cheek and exhaled tiredly. "How'd it go?"

"Not great."

"I'd give anything to fix this," he said hoarsely.

"I know you would," she whispered and then kissed him again. "Promise me something?" she asked, her breath tickling his lips.

"Anything," he answered without hesitation.

Lorelai smiled, basking in his steadfast belief in her and in them. "If I get scared, if I try to push you away…" she began haltingly. "I need you to stop me."

"What?"

"You know me, right? You know me and I know you. If I freak out and try to run away from you, I need you to promise that you'll come after me," she said implored. "You wouldn't on your own, but if you promise you will, you will."

"That's not gonna happen."

"It might. You know that it might. I'm asking you, please, as my friend. That is, unless you change your mind about me later. I want you to promise me that you won't let me go," she said urgently.

"Don't worry, I won't," he assured her.

"Good."

Luke pushed himself up off of her, closing his eyes as he slipped from her heat and then rolled over onto his back, flinging his arms out to his sides. "Not gonna happen, though," he said stubbornly.

Lorelai smiled as she curled into his side, running the arch of her foot along his shin. "You just keep on believing that," she said softly. "I plan to."

****

Emily turned out the light as she stepped out of the bathroom off of the blue guest room. She reached for the knot on her robe as she lifted her book from the nightstand, but her hands froze as she saw a small bouquet of snow white lilies and orange blossoms arranged in a plain glass bowl next to the bed.

She sat on the very edge of the mattress, barely feeling it dip under her weight as she reached for the bouquet with both hands. Heedless of the water that dripped onto the nightstand and then soaked into her robe, she brought the flowers to her nose and inhaled deeply.

A rush of memories flooded through her as she drank in the heady scent. A white gown, a tiara, snow white gloves, and a bouquet, just like this one, clutched in her hand.

Blinking back tears, she wrapped her fingers tightly around the bundled stems and reached for her book as she rose. Her slippered footsteps were muffled by the thick carpet along the hallway. She hesitated for a moment in the doorway, peering into the darkened room.

"They are beautiful, thank you," she said softly.

She heard the rustle of crisp bed linens as Richard rolled over in their bed, and then his deep, melodious voice as he said simply, "They aren't as beautiful as you are."

Emily stepped into the room and placed her book on the nightstand on her side of the bed. Gently, she laid the bouquet of lilies and orange blossoms atop the book, and then scowled as she wiped the moisture from her hand on her robe. She felt around in the dark, trying to locate the box of tissues she knew should be there, and heard Richard chuckle softly as he switched on the lamp on his side of the bed.

Emily looked over at him, the lines and furrows that marked his age softened in the golden glow, making him look almost like the young man she had fallen in love with four decades before.

"I borrowed them," he said as he offered her the box of tissues that had been sitting on his nightstand all along.

"Thank you," she said as she plucked two from the box, and then wrapped them around the damp stems. "You can turn the light out now," she said, keeping her eyes carefully averted from his.

"Very well," Richard answered as he reached for the switch.

Once the room was cloaked in darkness, Emily untied her robe and stepped out of her slippers. She reached for the covers and found that Richard had already folded them back for her. Climbing carefully into the large bed, she settled back on her pillows, taking great care to keep from touching him.

Richard shifted on his pillow, moving slightly closer to her, but not daring to reach for her. He inhaled deeply, drawing in the lingering scent of the magical creams that she massaged into her skin each night, as it mingled with hairspray, Chanel No. 5, and Emily.

His Emily.

Richard closed his eyes, and within a matter of moments, his breathing began to grow deep and even. Emily turned to look at him, squinting into the inky darkness to make out the silhouette she knew better than anything else in this world. "I love you, too," she said in the barest of whispers, and then closed her eyes, smiling in the darkness as his hand found hers.

****

Rory lay awake deep into the night. The lights from the swimming pool cast eerie pale blue waves across the ceiling, and she let her mind drift along on them. The bed was strange; the mattress too firm to get comfortable, the feather pillows too soft to sleep on. There was an annoying hum coming from just outside the window, which she could only assume was the function of some sort of pool-related equipment. Turning onto her side once more, Rory stared at her cell phone perched on the nightstand.

She reached for it, pressing a key and holding it down until the number she needed showed on the screen.

**

Lorelai stirred as her phone vibrated across the ancient table next to Luke's bed. Luke grunted his displeasure and rolled onto his back, flinging his arms wide and smacking her in the arm as she rolled away to locate it.

"Hey, no need to get violent," she admonished, knowing that he was out for the next several hours, and a marching band could play in the tiny apartment without him noticing.

She grabbed the dancing phone and squinted bleary-eyed at the display. Once the number registered, she flipped the phone open and asked in a harsh whisper, "Hey, are you okay?"

"This bed sucks," Rory complained.

Lorelai smiled as she slipped out from under the tangled covers and reached for Luke's long discarded shirt. "Yeah, well, you didn't check the website for bad reviews before you booked that hotel," she whispered as she slipped her arms into the shirt.

"I didn't do a lot of things," Rory said with a heavy sigh. "I should have waited until you got home. I should have talked to you about this."

Lorelai tiptoed over to the couch and curled one leg under her as she sat down. "Wouldn't have made any difference, I still would have told you not to go."

"I ran into Lindsay and Dean."

"I see," Lorelai replied softly.

"It was," Rory paused as she took a deep shuddering breath. "It was horrible."

"I'm sure," she answered sympathetically.

"And I realized that I did all of this for nothing. Well, not nothing, like it didn't mean anything, but nothing like there was nothing good that could happen from it," she tried to explain. "I had no intention of staying with Dean. I hardly even know what to say to him anymore."

"It's hard to let go, even after you grow apart. You don't have to tell me about that, kid."

"No," Rory agreed.

"But with Dad, it was different."

"The only difference is that we had you," Lorelai said firmly. "We were never meant to be together, me and Chris, no matter how much we both may have liked the idea of it." Lorelai sighed as she plucked at a button on Luke's shirt. "We wanted it for you, so we thought we wanted it for ourselves."

"You think?"

"Oh, Sweets, I know," Lorelai said softly. "I love your dad. I'll always love him because he gave me you. But love him the way you want to love someone you want to spend your life with? I don't think so." She turned to look at the bed, the streetlights below bathing Luke's bare chest in warm gold light. "That's why I couldn't marry Max, no matter how much I may have wanted to."

"Do you ever see that happening?" Rory asked worriedly.

"What? Loving someone enough to say, 'this is forever'?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah. Yeah, I do," Lorelai whispered, her eyes lighting with the hope of it all.

"Wow," Rory breathed into the phone.

Lorelai giggled and then turned away from the bed. "I know, crazy, huh?"

Rory's smile was genuine as she shook her head and said, "No, not so crazy."

"I want this for you, one day. But, you're still so young. There's still so much for you to see and do and be. Christiane Amanpour still has her job. You're still going after it, aren't you?"

"Yeah. Well, not her job. That would be a little _All About Eve_. I want a job like hers," Rory corrected.

"You're gonna screw up a lot, hon. We all do. You never outgrow it, I think that your grandparents are proof of that," she said with a sad smile. "And sometimes you screw up because you're trying too hard not to screw up, that's life. But the screwing up isn't what matters. It's how you deal with it, how you fix it, how you try to live your life better so that you never screw up like that again."

"I don't want to run away. Not from you."

"I just want you to be happy, and if being away from here is what you really think will make you feel better about things, then I think that it what you have to do. Crappy mattress or not," she added with a soft laugh.

"I love you, Mom."

"I love you too, kid. More than you can even imagine."

They each clung to their phones, unwilling to break the tenuous connection. Finally, Rory asked, "Where are you?"

Lorelai smiled and asked, "Do you really want to know?"

"Oh God, you're at Luke's."

"And I'm not here gettin' coffee," Lorelai said in a suggestive tone.

"Mom," Rory whined.

"Well, you asked. Don't ask, don't tell. It's a winner for a reason."

"It is Luke, right? The one you see yourself, you know," Rory asked quietly.

"Yeah, it's Luke," Lorelai answered without hesitation.

"Is he asleep?"

"Oh yeah, for hours. He gets up at a quarter to five every day. Can you imagine?"

"That's nuts. You know, I always forget that there's one of those in the mornings too."

"I know."

"And you want to spend the rest of your life with a guy that gets up when it's still dark out?"

"Um, yep."

"Crazy."

"I know."

Seconds ticked by as they fell silent once more. "I should let you go," Rory said reluctantly.

"It's very late," Lorelai agreed. "Or, very early, depending on how you look at it."

"I'm sorry, Mom."

"Nothing to be sorry about," Lorelai said quickly.

"Yes, there is. I keep saying things I shouldn't say, things that I know are not true."

"You're hurting. I wish I could spray you with Bactine, slap a Band-Aid on you and kiss you until it didn't hurt anymore. I would if I could," Lorelai whispered.

"I know you would."

"Try to get some sleep. One word about the mattress to your grandmother tomorrow morning, and I'm sure you'll have a selection waiting for you to play Princess and the Pea by noon."

"Probably," Rory said with a laugh.

"Goodnight, Sweets."

"Night, Mom."

Lorelai closed her phone and sat still as she possibly could on the creaky old leather couch. The streetlamps shone into apartment, bathing the worn wood floors in pools of orange-gold light.

She blinked as she peered through the dim light, focusing intently on the bed. Luke lay on his back, his head turned away from her, flat on the mattress. Her lips curved into a smile as she noted the pile of pillows stacked where she had curled up next to him. Strips of pale light pinstriped his chest, setting the soft curls that covered the muscled planes aflame.

She stood up, padding softly across the floor, smiling slightly as her toes curled into the ancient rag rug next to the bed, and let his shirt slide from her shoulders to the floor once more. She lowered her weight onto the mattress, shifting carefully as she lifted her legs slowly into the bed. Glancing over at him as she sank back into the mountain of pillows. Lorelai rolled her eyes up and peered back at the pillows, before she sat up a bit to pull two of them free.

Biting her bottom lip, Lorelai carefully maneuvered the pillows behind Luke's head, making sure that they were nearby if he stirred, searching out a little comfort in the middle of the night. Satisfied that he would have what he needed if he chose to reach for them, Lorelai turned onto her side and blinked slowly, letting her eyes glaze and become unfocused, sinking into the pools of the orange-gold that danced across the floor.

Wordlessly, Luke rolled onto his side and curled his body around hers. He opened his eyes as he pressed one hand to her sternum, pulling her close as he felt her heart beating too quickly beneath his fingertips.

Lorelai closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with the scent of him. She breathed out, leaning back into him and letting him take her weight.

"I love you, Luke."

The quiet surety in her voice warmed him through to the core. Luke closed his eyes and pressed his lips to her hair. Lorelai smiled as she covered his hand with hers; knowing that they both knew that he didn't need to say anything at all.

She had seen everything she needed to see in his eyes; and he had let her.

**

Rory placed the phone on her nightstand and stared unblinkingly up at the wavy ceiling. As the sky began to lighten, she tossed back the covers, quickly shed her pajamas and pulled on the jeans and t-shirt she had worn the day before. Grabbing her phone, she hurried into the main room and dropped it into her open purse. She located her flip-flops, slid her bare feet into them, and then liberated her keys from her purse as she ducked out of the door.

She made it two steps, before pausing to look back at the pool house indecisively. Rory walked back into the room and rushed for the pad and pen next to the phone. She dashed off a quick note and then left it in plain view on the counter. Sending up a prayer of thanks for the engineers at Toyota, she backed her car silently out of the garage and then down the drive. Running away to the place she should have run to in the first place.

********

Luke was gave up on fighting with the buttons on his cuffs as he rumbled down the steps the next morning quickly rolling his sleeves up as he pushed through the curtain, twenty minutes behind schedule. He flipped on the lights, and switched on the coffee maker, setting the day's first pot to brew without so much as a second glance. He fired up the grill and turned on the deep fryers as he moved through the kitchen to the walk in, and pulled all of the supplies that he would need for the day.

Once everything was arranged to his liking, he walked out into the dining room and reached for the first overturned chair he could reach. His movements slowed as he glimpsed someone sitting down on the diner steps. Squinting into the grey pre-dawn light, and hurried for the door, and flipped the locks. The bells jingled loudly shattering the early morning hush that blanketed the town.

"What are you doing here?" he asked in a bewildered tone.

Rory turned to peer up at him. "I can't sleep and we're out of coffee."

"Coffee isn't going to help you sleep," he grumbled as he stepped back and waved her into the diner.

"Sometimes it does," Rory answered with a ghost of her mother's smile as she followed him inside.

Luke poured her a mug while she pulled a stool from the countertop and then climbed up onto it. Luke slid the mug across the counter and then tugged nervously on his ear, unable to look at her as he said, "Your mom's still asleep. Do you want me to go and get her?"

Rory shook her head as she lifted the mug with both hands and took a tentative sip. "Not yet," she said as she set the mug down and tucked her hair back behind her ears. She looked up at him and smiled as she noted his pink tinged cheeks. "I'm really happy about you and Mom. She seems really happy."

Luke's smile was a little slow, and almost painfully shy as he nodded and said, "Yeah, me too."

"I don't want to get in your way. You go on and do what you need to do. I just wanted some coffee before I head back to Hartford," she told him.

A worried frown creased his brow, and his voice dropped almost a full octave as he looked at her suspiciously. "You're gonna leave without talking to her?"

Rory shook her head adamantly. "No, I just meant, I don't want to be in your way," she said uncertainly.

Luke nodded and reached for another coffee mug. He filled it with the aromatic brew and then started for the curtain. "Take some of those chairs down for me, will ya?" he called over his shoulder.

"Brave man. It's not even six o'clock," Rory pointed out with raised eyebrows.

Luke paused, holding the curtain back with his shoulder. He nodded to the cup of coffee and said, "I have this, and you. I feel pretty safe. But, if you leave before I get back down here, I will hunt you down," he told her with a fierce scowl.

Rory nodded as she slipped from her stool and reached for the next one. "I have been warned," she said with a solemn nod.

*******************************************************************************************************

Nothing looks the same as it once did.

The fires have burned down, their smoldering embers dying out as they find that there is nothing left to consume. Piles of rubble left behind by topping walls are cleared, their stones used to build something stronger, sturdier, and more durable than what stood before. Shards of shattered glass are swept up; in some cases discarded without a thought, in others, painstakingly pieced back together with steady hands and the help of a little Super Glue.

But the landscape has changed, and everyone who knew how it looked before, treads lightly into this new world. Danger lies around every corner, the possibility of heartbreak has become a constant companion, but the thought of living without the high that great danger brings seems almost unbearably desolate. So, step after cautious step, you move forward because you know that from here, there is no going back.

You've made it through to the other side, and you've come out stronger for it. You cling to the hand that pulled you out of it, knowing that your bonds are battle tested and proven strong. You survived the suffocating heat, the pummeling shockwaves, and the cloying odor that embedded itself in your hair, your skin and your nostrils, and now you must live to tell the tale.

Because in the absence of your own life story, there is only the sound of silence.


End file.
